


Gyre

by K91



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Cute Kids, F/M, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Fluff, Memories, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2020-06-30 13:08:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K91/pseuds/K91
Summary: A case gets personal, allowing us to get to know Barba in a way that the viewers already know Benson, including flashbacks, complicated relationships, undercover work that is not undercover work, and whatever else pops into my head.Plus, baby, cuz why not?





	1. Chapter 1

He had been back for about six weeks. And in that time they had had a strained greeting, where she felt like she was containing herself from leaping on him and he had regarded her with distant apprehension, like he was guarding himself from her. He had had the decency to call her after his appointment as EADA and the conversation had gone well. She stood about three feet outside her son's bedroom door, letting the sound of his voice warm her all the way to her stomach. But when he told her she could have sworn he had posed it like a question, as though he were waiting for her approval on the matter. She had simply congratulated him, thrilled that he would once again orbit her world, but couldnt shake the feeling that he had wanted something from her. They ended the phone call with their old kinship, and she had gone to bed that night thrumming with anticipation over simply seeing him again.

Most of the warmth of their phone call had dissipated outside of the courthouse where she had met him three days after he had started the position. Since that greeting outside of the courthouse, where they had stood over a year ago trading what she could argue were some of the purest sentiments she had ever witnessed, she had seen him a handful of times in meetings when his input was required. These meetings usually had multiple people in them including Chief Dodds, members of her squad and the new ADA that worked with her unit, so they weren't intimate affairs. But he was his typical self in them, quick and sharp, hammering his perspective and challenging everyone in the room with his ability to stay about three steps ahead of everyone. And he seemed... fine. And if Olivia had never met the Householders, never saw that baby and never stood outside the courthouse with him as he told her that she made him see in color, she may have believed that he was, in fact, fine. But she knew all those things had happened so her only logical explanation was that Rafael Barba had retreated. He had done this before, with countless people and even with her in the beginning of their friendship. But she supposed old habits die hard and her closest friend had once again figured out a way to insulate himself from close personal connections. If that was what he wanted she wasn't going to beg him for more. She had spent the year he was gone pushing past his absence, and this was just more of the same. She could handle the loneliness, because she had battled loneliness one way or the other her entire life. But she couldn't quite handle having to actually see him, and his loneliness. It made it all much more difficult. 

"So we're in agreement?" 

He was standing behind the chair that he used to habitually occupy, his hands in his pockets, his overcoat and scarf still on. He had never actually taken them off. He always seemed to be in a rush to get away. 

She shook herself. "Yes. I mean, if I can produce the evidence you're asking for, and that's a big if, we'll move forward with you on the case as special prosecution. I think the training could do Keisha some good."

He tilted his head a little. "She not doing well?" He had a few more lines around his eyes, but he was otherwise behaving as though the interim year and half had never occurred. Except that he wouldn't sit.

"No, no, she's good, very driven. But I think almost anyone could benefit from watching you in court." 

His foot moved backward, his hand now jingling some change in his pocket. He smirked at her a little, immediately averting his eyes. He was literally taking a step back. She sighed. 

His hand found the back of his neck. "Yeah, well-"

Chief Dodds came right in, door swinging open so the blinds rattled off the window. 

"Olivia! Ah, counselor! Is it no wonder that seeing you two together still strikes a little fear into my heart about what kind of trouble you're going to get us all into?" He looked between them jovially, like they were all in on the joke.

She glanced at Rafael at the same time he glanced at her, and the grin that couldn't be suppressed on his face forced one from her. She tried to hold his eyes for a second but he had dropped his gaze. 

The two men shook hands, and the chief asked Barba how he was settling back in. Barba said all the right things, with one eye on the door.

In an attempt to help him out, and to move him along if he didn't want to be there, Olivia smiled at the chief.

"Chief, was there anything I can help you with?"

William Dodds threw both of his hands up, turning toward Olivia. "My apologies, got myself sidetracked. I just wanted to go over our talking points for tomorrow, but we got sidetracked and it's getting late. I won't keep you." The older man stopped before he could actually turn around, and Olivia swore she heard Barba groan, the sound of the change in his pocket getting louder. 

"Oh Olivia, I wonder if you've had a chance to RSVP? I know Anne would love to see you at the wedding. She's a big fan of you." His genuinely happy face warmed Olivia's heart. He wasn't easy to work for, but she was delighted that the chief had found someone to make him happy after the death of his son. 

His jovial and playful spirit had her fighting a chuckle, but the chief was relentless. "Come on, it'll be a classy affair, other than the chicken dance of course," he was being playful, but she heard the muttered "dear lord" somewhere behind the older man. She felt the urge to laugh deep in her diaphragm. Suppressed it.

"Of course I'll be there, chief, we're all looking forward to it. I'll send my RSVP tomorrow."

He beamed, and then immediately zeroed in on Barba.

"Counselor, I know I didnt get an invitation to ya in time, but you're more than welcome to come. There's plenty of room. Let me send an invitation over to your office, unless you'd like to come as Olivia's plus one?"

There was a stillness, and her breathe caught a little. The incessant jangling of change abruptly stopped. His eyes looked hollow, the shock of the suggestion enough to sneak past his walls before he had safely put his guard up. He recovered quickly, but she saw it. 

"Congratulations Chief Dodds but I'll be busy for the foreseeable future with some open ended cases. Speaking of which, I should really be going." He nodded in general, and swiftly left the room. As far as evasions went, it was smooth in his classic style. He had frequently left without a goodbye during their tenure working together, but this felt somehow more detached than it used to. He used to always be off to the next thing, but this had felt a little like him running.

It had nagged at her for the next hour while she finished up some work. She couldn't really wrap her head around it. They had parted last year both intensely upset, and profoundly moved. He had been shattered, and she had understood why. His departure hurt but she was logical enough and empathetic enough to understand that there would be no happy ending if he had stayed in the state he was in. And when they said goodbye she was so sure that his feelings for her would transcend whatever time they spent apart. What was between them on that cold day on the courthouse steps was strong, and a little scary, but very real. She had been terrified by the force of her feelings for him. And now, now it was as though they had met for the first time, and though he liked her, he didn't seem to regard her with any special consideration, even though she had been nearly sure that he... 

She slammed her glasses on the desk. She glanced at the clock. It was early for her, only about six. She usually tried to go until eight on nights when Noah was in band practice. She was gathering her things slowly when she noticed the wallet on the floor. Faintly remembered the jingling of coins. She knew it was his before she even opened it. The only other people that had been in her office all day were cops, and cops didn't accidentally drop their wallets without noticing. She plucked his ID out of the wallet, noted his address. She could give it to him tomorrow. Or she could pass it on along with the new evidence that Rollins and Carisi had delivered to her about an hour ago. Maybe press him on why he didn't want to go to Dodds's wedding. She grabbed her coat.

His apartment had changed, or at least she thought so. She had never actually seen his other place, only remembered based on a few comments that he had made that it was on the West Side. This apartment was on the East Side, close to Central Park. She walked past the doorman, flashed her badge. She wasnt really sure why she did that, she didn't often misuse it like that. She just wanted to be able to change her mind. She stood in the elevator for eight floors, running her fingers over his wallet. It was soft, good quality. She wasn't even really sure why she was here, only that she couldn't quite compel herself to turn around. 

She got to his door, assured herself that a wallet was a perfectly legitimate reason to come all this way, and knocked. She waited. And knocked again.

She had almost given up when the door swung open. 

He was still mostly dressed, but his suit jacket was gone, his vest was entirely open and the tie that had been perfectly affixed in her office was loosened to about halfway down his chest. He had unbuttoned two of the buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. He wasn't wearing shoes anymore. And the desire that punched into her gut had her shifting a little uncomfortably. It wasn't the first time she had experienced this. But it was the first time it had happened after he had said what he said. It didn't feel so insulated anymore.

"Um. Hi. Why are you..? What can I do for you?" He was measured, one hand still high on the door. 

"You forgot your wallet." It came out a little harsh. She didn't mean to, she just didnt want him to think she was pulling something. 

"Oh." He stared at her. His eyes shifted a little. He smirked. "You want to keep it or can I have it?" 

"Oh God, sorry, here." She pulled it out of her purse. Their fingers brushed during the transfer and she cursed herself for the quick jolt it sent down her middle. When she looked up he was already looking at her. 

Then she heard the baby crying. 

"Is that..? Is that coming from your apartment?" 

He glanced back, looked at her with a pained expression. He looked her dead on. Facing her down. "Yes." So she still mattered. He sighed. "Come in." 

"Oh I'm coming in now." Her adoption of her old tone made him grin a little. He walked into the living room, and there was indeed a little baby in the middle of the floor. She was under an entertainment mobile, and her little legs and arms were flailing in tune with the silly music. She was round and dark with perfect little curls and round cheeks, wrapped up in soft pink pajamas. She was making quite a bit of noise but Olivia recognized it as the happy kind, a baby thoroughly enthralled. 

"Barba, you... why is... there's a baby in your apartment." She settled for incredulous gaping. 

He smiled at her a little, but he was already on one knee, swinging his hands under the mobile and gently pulling the baby out and onto his chest. "I'm aware, but thank you for your excellent detective skills. Should we go find sherlock?" He said the last part into the baby's hair, as he was a little distracted in nuzzling her.

She hated herself for it, the simple and biological reaction of it, but she had a sudden urge to bite him. She cleared her throat. 

"I suppose you want the story to all of this." 

"What the hell, Barba? Also, hand her over."

He cracked a grin, relishing the moment when he finally got to place his baby into Olivia's arms. The transfer forced their closeness, and she felt utterly helpless when she found his warm and vulnerable eyes peeking at her over the tiny body. This is what she had been missing. His closeness. He smelled like spice and scotch and coffee and baby and her whole body felt like it was humming a little. Once the baby was settled he didn't step back. 

"Oh hi, sweet girl, hi. Oh aren't you perfect." She noticed the light green eyes. "When did you have a baby?" She didn't even look up from the child. 

Both his hands were under her arms, with the baby in them. She didn't ask him to move. 

"Well, she's about seven months old, so that long ago." 

She did the math. So he had been with someone intimately enough to create this child about three months after he had left her heart sitting on the courthouse steps. 

"You don't waste any time, do you?" She cursed the water in her voice. 

His hands stroked a little, and she still didn't move. The baby was full on staring at her, her intense eyes burrowing into Olivia's. There was no disputing her parentage. 

"I went off the rails. Made a few decisions that I regret. She isn't one of them."

"Of course not." Her eyes flashed from the baby to his, and he was already intently looking at her. She nearly just leaned into him. She settled for rubbing the baby's back. 

"Raf- how are you managing her? Where is her mother?" The question burned in her throat. 

"Her mother is.. I made some really poor choices. Her mother is married. This was the best arrangement for everyone." Olivia pulled the child in closer, automatically trying to protect her from that fact. "We manage ok. I have a nanny, she stays until around bedtime," he checked his watch. "Let's me get some work done, but then we have a routine. We're doing ok. I didn't really sleep much before so we're adjusting ok." 

She looked at his worn and tired face. He said he was managing, but some of his behavior fell into place. The distance, the fact that he seemed a little desperate to leave her office before five in the evening. He had an infant. She couldn't even imagine it, but he looked surprisingly domestic with his what was left of his suit loosened and his hair mussed. She felt the stab of desire again. 

"Ok. Wow. Well, what's her name?" She felt his body relax a little, at her acceptance. As though she would ever do anything but accept the round and soft baby sitting in her arms.

His hand came up, stroked the back of the infant's head. "Its... uh, I call her Maggie. Her middle name is Lucia." 

Maggie. Olivia adjusted the baby's weight, indulged herself in smelling the child. "Well she's beautiful. Do you desperately want to kick me out, or can I hold her while you change into something comfortable?" 

"You can hold her as long as you want." He smiled at her, leaned in and kissed his daughter's head. He left. She let out the breathe that she had been holding. 

She picked her way through his livingroom with toys on the floor and documents on the couch, faintly remembering when he had ribbed her for the amount of toys on her floor. Sat on the couch with the baby. She was being snuggly, no doubt getting ready for bedtime and Olivia couldn't get enough of her. She let herself enjoy the simple pleasure of the weight of a baby, while trying to wrap her head around Rafael Barba being a father. 

He was quite possibly the smartest person she knew, but she had to admit that she found it shocking that the small baby seemed to be in good health, clean and happy. His discomfort with her son had only wained as Noah had grown, becoming self sufficient enough that Barba hadn't felt like he was going to break him. She wondered how long it had taken, how many sleepless nights and panicked moments it had taken for him to get to this point, with the baby happy and content, and he calm and sure with her. She remembered back in the early days with Noah, she had been constantly panicked and had felt like she was failing, and Noah hadn't even been a newborn when she had been appointed his guardian.

When he came back into the living room, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, the baby was lightly snoring on her shoulder. He peaked at the child's face, and Olivia didn't miss the light disappointment that twisted his mouth when he saw his baby's closed eyes. Because she understood the constant struggle of disappointment and guilt as a single parent, she reluctantly handed the baby back to him, carefully transferring her solid body onto his shoulder. The child briefly started, but settled onto her father, falling back asleep to the rhythmic tapping of his hand on her diapered bottom. 

Olivia snorted. "You look like a natural."

He raised an eyebrow and lightly rolled his eyes. "Believe me, we were not always smooth sailing." But his eyes bounced to the baby like they were a team. 

There were nights when he wondered if he could even do this, nights when he wondered if he could conceivably give her back. Nights, when he was ashamed to admit, he desperately called her mother, only to be met first with silence, and then her vicious fury. She had been terrified that her husband would answer the phone. He didn't call her again after that. He was shocked by how immediately he loved his baby, but knew that it had taken around three months for him to fully accept that that love was irreversible, that he was lost to those tiny hands and that perfect little mouth. That he would do anything to keep her safe. 

He sniffed her hair, he was constantly doing that. He looked up, saw Olivia watching him with curiosity. 

"So I suppose I should probably start talking?" 

"You don't owe me anything." She shrugged, waited. 

"Of course I do." Rather than put the baby down, he made his way over to the couch and settled with her on his chest. He knew that he should put her in her crib, that he was spoiling her, but they did this almost every night.

Olivia settled on the cushion across from him, resisted the urge to take the baby from him. She had to admit that both he and the child seemed perfectly content to cuddle with eachother, but she would have happily held her for hours. She waited.

He was rubbing slow circles on the infant's back. "She didn't know. We... it didn't last long, and she went back to her husband. I moved on. But she didn't know she was- it was too late to- once she found out. She was already almost six months along. She didnt know who's it was, so we waited." 

He had been terrified for the three months waiting for the baby's birth and the results of the paternity test, never knowing what he wanted the results to be. 

"We agreed to wait for the results of the paternity test before we made any decisions." He paused, and they both looked at the tan skin, and dark hair of his child. Olivia had met his mother, but had never seen even a photo of his father before. "Turns out... we didn't need that paternity test." He offered a humorless smile, glanced at the baby. "Her husband, he's, he's caucasian. So is she." His eyes flashed up to hers. 

The baby was comfortably settled on him, her small hand resting on his neck. The child was easily several shades darker than he was, and her hair was nearly black. Olivia remembered his mother, her shock of dark hair. She knew that Barba was Cuban, and that despite his lighter skin tone and green eyes, he did have a tendency to tan quickly. She wondered if that trait came from his father.

She tried to picture it all, tried to put herself in this baby's mother's shoes. But couldn't reconcile herself with a mother that turns away from her child. Thought of her own mother, and how both of them would have been better off if she had. 

She knew she shouldn't pry, but her heart was twisting just looking at that tiny motherless person. 

"And she... she just gave her to you?" 

He sighed, was briefly interrupted by the squirming baby dragging her face across his neck. The delighted expression on his face while he watched her drag her drool on him was baffling to Olivia. She never could have pictured it. She had always known that he was soft, underneath all of the bravado. But he so rarely showed his vulnerability, so she often convinced herself that any hint of it had been her imagination. She knew that the cases involving children were the hardest for him, but they were hard on all of them. She never could have imagined that his desperate eyes on hers when he was faced with the emotional onslaught of a victim or grieving family could bely anything as intimate and paternal as what she was witnessing.

"He was furious." He didn't quite brave looking at her, instead focusing on his baby's face. "Rightfully so. I think we all thought that she would just be his, and I could just be a bad memory. But she wasn't." He smiled a little. Olivia ignored the pull in her stomach, focused on the deception. 

His expression changed. His eyes clouded. "She was... devastated. She was actually desperate, begging him not to leave. Eventually they decided that adoption was the best choice. I agreed." His hand was stroking the tiny body of his daughter, and he instinctively pulled her closer to him. "I wanted to meet her though." He looked up at Olivia and he had that desperate look in his eye, the one that was so vulnerable she could feel it. "I was... I was a goner." 

Olivia let herself smile, looked at the perfect ringlets of dark hair, heard the soft snoring. "Well. Yeah. That's sort of how parenthood works." She thought of this little baby's mother. Wondered if she regretted it.

"I'll let you put her down." She rose to her feet, her hand instinctively coming up to stroke the soft body of the baby. Resisted the urge to hold her again. 

"Liv. Sorry I didn't tell you. I just... sorry." 

She smiled at him, standing there fully cuddling the pink bundle of baby in his arms, looking unkempt and peaceful in a way she had never seen. 

She looked at the baby. "I dont see anything to be sorry about."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yep. I over thought it, and took it way too deep. Welcome to the inside of my head. It's annoying in here. Full disclosure, I'm still not entirely sure where this is headed. I feel a little like I used to when I would wind through a made up bedtime story for my brother, having no idea what the conclusion would be, and hoping he would fall asleep before I had to figure it out. 
> 
> Anyway, happy reading!

She knocked softly on his office door, entered when she heard the faint noise he made in lieu of verbal acknowledgement that he used when he was busy. It was after dark and the building was otherwise quiet. She wasn't shocked that he was still there.

He was behind his desk, his sleeves pushed up, with papers sprawled everywhere and the slightly unhinged look he wore when he was in the middle of a question tree.

"You got a minute?" 

Irritation flooded his eyes but he dropped his pen. "Yeah." 

She moved all the way into the room and then caught sight of her, sitting in the middle of the rug and teetering a little as she reached for a purple cup. She was dressed in pink again. Olivia found it strangely endearing that Barba dressed the little girl in the color. 

"Oh. Well, hello." She stooped, scooted the cup a little closer to the baby. Maggie immediately shoved it into her mouth.

"Liv. Focus." Her head snapped up. He looked bored and more than a little irritated.

She straightened. "Sorry. What's she doing here?"

"Its after hours." His tone was a little defensive. "Her nanny dropped her off on her way uptown so I wouldn't have to drag all this home with me." He watched her watching the baby carefully scoot across the carpet. "Liv. What do you need?" His patience was running a little short. Carisi and Rollins had been by an hour ago and Carisi spent the entire time sitting on the floor with the baby until Barba kicked him out of his office. Rollins, bless her, had been less interested in the baby, but he caught her quick maternal appraisal of Maggie, as though she were looking for signs that he was somehow neglecting his child. He didn't like the idea that people were now associating him with paternity. He was regretting the idea to bring her here, despite the late hour.

"Right." She internally shrugged at his irritation and ignored his sigh as she stooped to pick the baby up, rubbing her back. "We found Channing Johnson. We've been interrogating him."

He was writing again, half ignoring her. She took the opportunity to pepper the baby's soft cheek with light kisses. 

"Good. He give you anything? I can charge him with unlawful sexual contact with a minor, but that's all I can do without the vic's pimp."

She hesitated. "Is... should we be discussing this with..." she looked at the baby gumming the cup in her arms. 

"Oh Jesus." He dropped his pen, fingers digging into his eyes. "She's seven months old, she's a bologna loaf that drools, Liv."

"They pick up on tone and tension at this age. It affects their development." She automatically bounced lightly, setting a comforting rhythm.

His mouth turned up a little. "So what you're saying is, we can discuss sex trafficking, we just have to sound happy about it?" His tone was so bland and annoyed that she turned to bounce the baby so he wouldn't catch her smile.

"Channing Johnson, Liv. I threw Carisi out, I will throw you out as well."

He watched the two of them in the middle of the room, Olivia lightly tapping her fingers on the baby's stomach while she squirmed.

"I think she compromises my authority." He jerked a chin toward his daughter.

She snorted. "Well, pink jammies and ringlets don't exactly exude power stance. Maybe you should try putting her in a pantsuit next time."

He crossed his arms over his chest, chuckling. "I probably should have left her at home. It's kind of hard to be me when your detective is making goofy faces at my baby and changing her diaper for me. It's all well and good, but I've had more productive meetings in my life." He paused. Resigned himself to bringing work home with him going forward.

"Liv. For the love of God. Channing Johnson."

"He just doesn't appreciate how distracting all this cuteness is." She was addressing the baby in a low, soothing tone, and those pretty green eyes were fixed on her. She didn't look away from the baby as she resumed speaking. "He actually gave us a lot, but he wants a deal. I said I would talk to you." She looked up from the baby to see him watching them, an amused grin on his face. 

"What he give you?" 

"Have you ever heard of a man named Christopher Potter?" 

"Uh... maybe. Why do you ask?" He stood, rounded his desk and leaned on it.

"He went to Harvard Law. But he was there a while before before you."

She watched his eyes mentally go back over the name. Something clicked. "Yeah. Yes, I remember him. I didn't know him. He... briefly dated a classmate during my freshman year." He was scratching the back of his head, looking at the floor.

She scoffed. "So even then he was inappropriate. He would have been what? Twenty five when you were eighteen?" 

"Yeah. There were rumors about him."

She shifted the baby to her hip so she was facing out, still chewing the purple cup in both her hands. "Well, according to Johnson those rumors are true. His source for girls was through Potter's modeling agency. A lot of them are under eighteen."

Something turned in his stomach.

"Yeah, it's never been a secret that Christopher Potter is vile. I need more to indite." His tone sounded sharp.

"I thought you said you didn't know him."

"I didn't, I knew of him."

"Here's our problem. The ring, it's all very exclusive, according to Johnson. You need an invitation." She watched him. She didn't see any light of acknowledgement or understanding, so pushed forward. 

"They make these contacts at Harvard."

"What are you suggesting?" He already sounded annoyed.

"We did some research. There's an alumni networking function for Harvard Law in a few weeks." She continued to watch him as the full meaning of her words hit him.

"Ha. Not my job. That falls under your jurisdiction."

She knew she was going to have to argue, but it didn't mean she was happy about it.

"You know as well as I do how hard it is to break ground within institutions like that."

"What do you think I can do? I've never even been to one of those things. I'd rather slowly choke to death." He muttered the last part.

"You wouldn't have to do anything, you're just my ticket in."

She was torn between exasperation and amusement as she watched the dawning of her implication settle over him. 

"You mean-"

"Don't be a child." She bounced his child.

"We have to pretend to be together." He muttered it to the ceiling. She suppressed irritation when his head fell back and he heaved a long-suffering sigh.

"Its a weekend, Rafael. You'll survive."

"So I don't get a choice?" He sounded resigned. It's not like they were exactly swimming in Harvard Law alumni options.

"If I gave you one, you'd do it anyway. Just spare me the argument?" She grinned when he rolled his eyes, nodded.

She headed for the door. "I'll get the arrangements and send them to you tomorrow. This isn't undercover work for you, you're just being you. I'll do the heavy lifting."

"Liv." She turned. 

He lazily gestured toward the baby. 

"That's mine. I'm gonna need her back."

She chuckled. "Right. I swear, we should keep her around for her therapeutic qualities." She headed toward him.

He rolled his eyes. "I threw Carisi out because he compared her to the therapy dogs that used to be on his college campus. My baby is not a dog." He stayed leaning on the desk as he took the baby from Olivia. He held her up so they were face to face. Because no one else besides Olivia was there, he rubbed his nose against the baby's and smiled at her.

"Although if I'm really patient, I can get her to bark."

She laughed as she headed for the door. "Your baby is not a toy for your own perverse amusement."

"Isn't that exactly why people have children?" He called it after her. 

She shut the door to the sounds of the baby belly laughing, and resisted the urge to look back and see what he was doing to elicit her joy.

__________________________________________________________

After he settled Maggie into her crib that night, he used his phone to look up Christopher Potter. It took him a while to find a picture that was old enough, but once he did, it took him right back to the first year he attended college.

______________________________________________________

He saw her sitting on the bench outside of their class, and sped up, ignoring the way his pants slipped down as he ran. No matter what size his clothes were, they always slipped and stooped on his narrow frame. He always felt a little exposed in them.

She was the exact opposite, looking like a picture, sitting on the end of the bench with her legs curled under her in a way that would make the teachers at her finishing school on the Upper East Side faint. Her cardigan and pencil pants hugged her slim frame perfectly, and her light brown hair was pulled off her face with the ends prettily curled. She belonged on the Harvard brochure. He smiled at her even as he hopped on the bench, his body crashing into hers a little. She smirked, but didn't look up.

"Come with me to score some weed." He didn't bother with greetings or other social niceties. They usually just cut to the chase.

She slid the page, lazily moving to the next one. He was jostling her, one of his arms looping around her neck so he could see what she was reading. He fidgeted more than anyone she'd ever known, and was oddly boisterous with his affection. He wasn't careful with her, jamming elbows into her side, looping an arm over her neck in a possessive gesture as they walked, pulling at her hair when he wanted her attention. She didn't really know what to make of it or him, but she adored the attention, the feeling of belonging.

"Rita. Weed." 

She fixed her best prim face, shook the legal text for emphasis. "Can't you see that I'm a bit busy."

There he went again, jostling her. She hid her satisfied smirk on the side of her face he couldn't see. "Allow me to spoil it for you. You now have freedom over your own body. Let the fetal blood flow in the streets." His tone was dripping with sarcasm.

She fully smiled, marked the Roe v. Wade chapter of the legal text that only they would bond over as light reading. "In theory, anyway." She looked at his face, smiling at her quippy response. She didn't really know why the hell she liked this pesky nuisance, but she did. She liked to look at his face. The first time she'd seen him, during Welcome Day, it had been covered in bruises, shining a pretty purple against his skin. There was a sea of kids with their parents, all clumped together with fresh haircuts and new t-shirts and crisp shorts, and he was on the outskirts of it all. Alone. But she noticed the way he carried himself, shoulders back, oddly proud and graceful for a lone skinny boy with bruises and shaggy hair and no parents. They hadn't spoken that day, but had briefly locked eyes.

She didn't see him again until she was sitting in the front row of her alternative languages literature class. She was getting the language requirement out of the way in her first semester, but was silently cursing herself for always taking the hardest option possible. Instead of taking a class that focused on one language, she had insisted on taking one that focused on six. They were reading the "Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas" in its original Portuguese, and she was at a total loss.

Every other student in the class was in various states of panic as they took notes, but she saw him, also in the front row, three seats over, writing his notes in Portuguese. The bruises on his face had faded some, but his shoulders were still proud, his face intense as he scribbled. 

She barely gave him thirty seconds to pack up his belongings at the end of class before she pounced. 

"You write in Portuguese." It wasn't a question.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers as he shoved his things into his bag. The purple bruises on his face brought the green out in his eyes. 

"Uh huh." His tone didn't convey the usual nerves of boys his age, but boredom, maybe a little apprehension, and some impatience.

"I only speak Portuguese very poorly, I can't write it. Are you fluent? Rita. Rita Calhoun." She shoved her hand toward his chest.

The corner of his mouth twitched up a little. He took her hand. She found herself smiling at his hesitant grin. 

"Rafael. Barba." 

"Oh." She found herself enchanted by his name. It was far more romantic than the names of men that orbited her world. "Are you..." she looked at his light skin, his green eyes.

He caught on. "You know, not all Latinos are brown, right?" He smirked. She bristled. 

"Of course. Don't be ridiculous." He was now fully smiling at her irritation, and she was confused and annoyed that she wanted to smile back. "Anyway, I was wondering if you would be willing to help me with this portion of the class." She smiled prettily. He had something she needed and she was willing to do what she had to to obtain that commodity.

Instead of answering her, he glanced at the wristwatch dangling on his skinny wrist. 

"I have an hour before my next class, and we're wasting it pretending to be polite. Walk with me?" He was already moving toward the door. She chased after him. 

"So, where are you from?" She matched her stride to his, both of them making their way toward the library. 

"New York. Can you read Portuguese, or do you need tutoring on the language?" 

She ignored his question in favor of his answer. He seemed oddly unwilling to participate in the usual social niceties that had been drilled into her through rigorous education. "You're from New York? Me too. Just the state or the city?"

He actually huffed a little. She found herself satisfied by that. "City."

"I'm from the city as well." She noticed he still hadn't asked. "Upper East Side." She paused. "Where are you from?" 

He looked at her with an expression that she couldn't quite read, but made her feel strangely ashamed. "What? I can't be from the Upper East Side? Not gritty enough for you?" 

She was charmed by the almost shy smile he shot her, like she caught him in something. She looked at him expectantly. 

He cleared his throat, his pace picking up as though he could outrun her. He was fast, but so was she.

"South Bronx." 

He seemed a little confused when she snaked her arm through his, dragged him back so they were walking in tandem. 

"Won't my parents just love to know that my six figure education they paid for could have been achieved by throwing me into the middle of the South Bronx." She felt warm with victory when he laughed. "Although I suppose we can't all hear the pledge of allegiance in sixteen different languages and be from Portugal. It seems you have an unfair advantage."

"First of all, gringita, I'm from New York, same as you." His elbow bumped into her rib cage as they walked, and he didn't apologize or check on her. She tightened her hold on him, and let his elbow continue to rap into her side. "Second of all, I'm not Portuguese."

She sniffed. "Okay, before you hit me with your righteous indignation, I would like to point out that all evidence that YOU supplied indicated to me that you were Portuguese. So really this is on you." He was chuckling, and she was thrilled by his enjoyment of what her mother called her abrasive tendencies. She continued.

"First of all, you were writing in Portuguese while the rest of the class was collectively eating their hair. Second of all, your last name is Hispanic." He was fully laughing at her haughty tone, but she decided to take it as an encouragement rather than a deterrent. "And third of all, you yourself said that not all Latinos are brown, and considering your pale skin and green eyes, I can only assume that you were referring to yourself. So my drawing the conclusion that you're of Portuguese descent isn't unfounded. I'll apologize for indicating that you were FROM Portugal. An ignorant slip of the tongue."

"Rita." He was peeking at her again, but he didn't look annoyed or upset. Usually people looked annoyed or upset when she started to rant. He looked amused. She felt strangely seen. 

"Being Portuguese isn't the same thing as being Hispanic or Latino." 

She hated being wrong.

"I was writing in Portuguese, because well, I'm extremely intelligent and the language isn't all that different from Spanish."

"So modest."

"Who has the time for something as frivolous as modesty? We're all here, right?"

Her hand slid down until she was holding his. "Precisely." 

He looked at their hands and smirked a little at her like she was strange, but didn't let go. It was just as well. Now she wouldn't have to jog to keep up with him.

"And yes, when I said that not all Latinos are brown, I was referring to myself, but you made an assumption based off one thing you know about me. Can't you write in another language?"

She raised her nose up. She was losing this debate. 

"French."

"Are you French?" 

She was briefly tempted to lie. 

"No." 

"Exactly." 

They walked in silence for a moment before she felt compelled to fill the air. 

"What are you?" 

"Mildly annoyed and vaguely intrigued."

She squeezed his hand and laughed. Usually no one liked to verbally spar with her. They just indicated that she was rude, and occasionally unladylike.

He pulled the library door open and they both shoved in, their shoulders clattering together as they did. The men in her life were constantly holding doors open for her, waiting for her to enter politely, like she was some wife in training. His sharp shoulders crashing into hers felt a little like equality. She already liked this abrasive, impolite boy. 

"No, really." She tugged his hand and felt satisfied when he rolled his eyes. 

"I'm Cuban." He shook his head. A ten minute walk and she already scraped more information out of him than he was usually comfortable sharing. 

"Was that so hard? Now, where should we start reading this chapter?" 

After that, they spent an increasing amount of time together, constantly meeting on campus and in her dorm room, enjoying the peace of her single. He made snarky comments about her privelige, but was nonetheless all too happy to sprawl on her bed with the radio playing too loudly while he studied, as he was now. Their freshmen year was coming to a close, and they had formed the oddest pair, choosing to spend much of their free time in the safe confines of her room. 

"Rafi?" She stabbed her shoulder into his.

"Don't call me that." He was on his stomach, with his book in front of him. She was next to him on her back. She rolled and put her chin on his shoulder, tossed an arm and leg over his body. She knew how to irritate him and delighted in doing so.

"Why not? Your friends called you Rafi." They had come up to visit a few weeks ago, and she would never admit that she was intimidated and enthralled by their loud voices, their rambling Spanish during their brief encounter. Two boys and a beautiful girl. She noticed that Rafael acted differently, softer around the dark haired girl who spent most of their encounter wrapped around his boisterous, charismatic friend. Alex.

"Well, yeah. But they sort of knew me when I was young enough that Rafi wasn't so out of place as a juvenile nickname."

"Your own name isn't dignified enough to suit you? Would you prefer Mr. Barba?"

He smirked, still staring at his book. "Rafael, Raf, hey you, all are acceptable."

She ignored him. "Well, Mr. Barba, I was wondering if you were going to pull your nose out of that book anytime soon." She tempted him by wiggling a carefully rolled joint under his nose.

He left the book open, but turned and laid his head on it, his irritation plain. "What?" His head perked up as the song on the radio changed. "Oh, shut up. Night Moves." He reached over her, turned the volume up, and then stayed where he was, stretched across her with his head on her chest. They laid there, listening to the song. She could feel the vibration from his chest as he hummed along with it.

"I've been sufficiently distracted. What do you want?" 

She took a pull from the joint, dropped it into the ashtray and stared at the ceiling. 

"Have you ever had sex?" She immediately felt his body stiffen.

She huffed out her irritation when he shifted so their chests were pressed together, and he could look at her. This would be simpler if he wasn't watching her. 

"Well?" 

"Why do ask? Have you?" 

She somehow managed to exude prim authority laying under him on a twin mattress. "No. Now answer my question."

"Yes. Yeah, I have." 

She cleared her throat. "Good. Have you done it a lot? Do you know what you're doing?" Her slightly skeptical tone had him laughing.

"God Rita, I dont know. Sure."

"When did you first have sex?"

"While ago." He wasn't about to tell her that he hadn't even been fourteen years old when Yelina first dragged his pants down and used her mouth on him to get back at Alex after a fight. Rita wouldn't understand. Girls like Yelina, from his neighborhood, they used what they had to survive, and sex was currency. He didn't have the words to try to explain the dearth in their experiences.

He paused. "You haven't? Like at all?"

She looked impatient. "Not yet. Christopher wants to." 

He stretched, reached for the joint. "He wants to have sex? What is he, like twenty four?" 

"Twenty five, what's your point?"

"I just wonder why he can't find a woman his own age."

"I'm very mature for my age."

"Or he can't find anyone his own age who doesn't already know better."

She hit his arm. "Stop it. I can decide who I want to sleep with. Anyway, our parents know eachother."

"My mom knows the eighty year old owner of our corner bodega, doesn't mean I'm going to sleep with his fifty year old daughter."

She laughed, and dragged him down so she could hug him to her. He never knew if she was going to get mad or be delighted when he was sassy. Her occasional anger made her approval that much more satisfying when it happened.

"If you wanted to sleep with your bodega princess, I would support that. Because who we sleep with is entirely up to us." She paused, continued to hold him in a hug so he couldn't look at her face. "I need you to have sex with me." Cutting to the chase.

"Well that took a turn." He pulled away again so he could look at her. He seemed shocked, but not horrified. She took that as a good sign. "What do you need me for? Isn't Christopher all too eager?" 

"Of course he is, I just-" she huffed. "I just, look, I trust you to do it the first time. Then he and I will be on a more even playing field." She'd be damned if she let anyone see her shortcomings.

"Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but if you don't trust him to do it the first time, should you even be sleeping with him at all?" 

"Did I ask for your opinion on my judgement? Christopher is a Harvard man, a law student. He expects... experience. I don't want to look like a child." 

Something told him that that might be exactly why Christopher was interested in an eighteen year old undergrad, but he was smart enough not to point that out. It wouldn't be the first time Rita had thrown him out of her room.

"So, you what? Want me to-"

"If you make any references to cherries you won't make it out of this room alive." Her eyes were ice cold.

He laughed, the nerves and weed making his head feel a little light. 

He sighed, tossed a hand up and let it drop on her. "Got a condom?" 

She looked so delighted and triumphant that he felt a strange urge to hug her. She stayed under him, but reached for the drawer of her night table, pulled an industrial sized box out. 

"Are you small, average or large?" 

She was both exasperated and enchanted when he laughed so hard they fell off the bed.

______________________________________________________

After that night, he knew that she had sex with Christopher Potter. They didn't talk about it much, but he had asked her once, after a drunken fueled night of much too loud music and cheap whiskey in her dorm room, how Potter had measured up. 

"So, how was your white people sex?" 

They were laying on her bed, the school year had just ended. It was about a month and a half after they had laid together in the same bed after having sex together for the first time. They were half naked now, due to the heat in the dorm rooms. 

She stiffened. Just a little. But he felt it.

"It was... different."

He turned so his nose was touching her cheek. She didn't turn, but her hands found one of his and she settled them on her chest.

"Did you like it?" He could have sworn he saw wetness in her eyes. 

"It was fine. I didn't..." 

"Oh." He had carefully made sure she came once before he even entered her, and she had come a second time during the actual sex. He was immensely proud of that at the time, but now he felt strangely guilty, like he set her expectations too high.

"Did he hurt you?" She shuddered a little, turned so their noses were aligned. Fixed her face into a placid smile.

"No. He just likes sex different. He didn't do it like you did." He'd hurt her. Badly. But she did it to herself, agreed to the sex, so she wasn't about to cry over it. 

He touched the inside of her wrist. "Did you tell him to stop?"

She did. So many times. "No. I wanted to have sex." She leaned in, pushed her mouth against his to make him stop talking. 

They never spoke of it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christopher Potter = *cough* Epstein *cough*


	3. Chapter 3

"This is a nightmare."

They were sitting on the train, and she was checking emails while he glared at the floor.

She didn't even bother looking up from her phone. 

"How flattering."

He ignored her. 

"You know, I used to just be a regular old D.A. Sure, I occasionally whipped out a party trick, wrapped a belt around my neck, suggested cutting body parts off of victims to get jurors' attention." He sighed so wistfully that she had to bite down on her laughter. "But at the end of the day, I was just the guy who handled legalities. Now I'm doing undercover work." His eyes slid toward her accusingly. "I blame you."

She gave up, dropped her phone. Clasped both hands in front of her mouth for patience. "You're attending a function, for YOUR alma mater, as YOU. That's hardly undercover work. I'm also me, I'm just not a cop. That's all you have to remember."

"So what's your big plan then, Point Break?"

She took a breath. "We did some digging on Potter. He married a woman named Barbara Cerone twenty years ago. She handles most of his business dealings, and she was Miss Minnesota. Since I'm apparently in the fashion industry and I'm looking for models, I'll use that as my in."

He smirked. "Miss Minnesota?"

She leaned onto her hand to hide her smile. "She goes by Bunny."

"No."

"Yes."

He was silent for a second. "I wonder which comes first, the name Bunny, or a life of beauty pageants and fashion shows?"

"Maybe Bunny can answer your philosophical chicken or egg question this weekend, and it won't be a total loss."

He was looking at the floor again. "The floor is sticky. There are things on it."

She put her hand on his forehead and pushed until the back of his head rapped against the seatback. "None of this is going to work if I smother you before we get there." She felt him chuckle. 

She'd just risked picking her phone back up when he pushed an arm into hers. "We should probably get our story straight."

"For the last time, you're you-"

"When did we meet then?" He was watching her with amusement.

"At the courthouse." She deadpanned it.

"Yeah, that's not going to work." He paused. "Unless you want to play it like you're some weird legal groupie." She laughed, and dropped her phone into her bag, turned to give him her attention. 

"Right. Let's keep it simple." She threw her eyes up, tried to think. "We've been together, what, three years?"

"Problem." He was looking at her like she was mildly dense.

"What?"

"Um. Either you're the mother of my child, or I cheated on you." 

"Oh, right." It wasn't likely that any of his old classmates knew about the baby, but it wasn't something she was willing to risk.

She laughed to herself. "You know, when I first met you, I did think that you looked like the kind of asshole that cheated on his wife."

He smirked. "Perfect. Because I thought you looked like the kind of woman that someone cheats on their wife with." He muttered it out of the side of his mouth.

She smiled, grimacing a little at old memories. "I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or insult."

He looked a little smug. "Well, I know I should take your assessment as an insult."

She absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder. "Isn't that sort of the look you were going for though?" She felt his shoulder shake as he chuckled.

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." 

She thought of Maggie, realized that she could physically pass as being that baby's biological mother. Let the idea go, as quickly as it came.

"I think to be safe, this will have to be a fairly new relationship if anyone asks. But to be extra cautious, maybe don't mention Maggie."

His eyes slid over to her, the irritation plain. "As if I would wander around one of those oppressive functions and actually participate in their pathetic competition by brandishing photos of my daughter."

She smirked. "You're as desperate to win as the rest of them."

"Not like that."

He had never really been willing to join the fray with trophy wives and perfect children, seconds homes and new cars. Instead of chasing after a lifestyle that would have taken him twice as much work to achieve as most of his classmates, he chose to abhor it, insolating himself and making only choices that served his professional success. It meant leaving behind more than he gained, but he refused to show his underbelly by leaping for something that he wasn't meant to have. And he'd been fine with that for most of his life. 

He was silent for a moment. 

"Why weren't we briefed on a backstory already? What kind of backroom, undercover operation are you running, Jumpstreet?"

She smiled, but didn't turn away from the window. "The kind that isn't an undercover operation. Those usually involve a threat of harm. Although one of us is under serious threat of harm right now." 

He smiled. He really had been fine with it.

He watched her, sitting next to him, looking out the window with the sun hitting her hair.

"Why did you get the window seat?" He only said it to annoy her, and was rewarded when her gaze snapped to him, her irritation plain.

He grinned.

"I hate you." She turned back to the window.

"No you don't."

She smiled at the passing trees.

"No, I don't."

______________________________________________________

"The reservation is under Benson."

He was standing about ten feet from her while she checked in, speaking into his phone in such rapid Spanish that even she wasn't quite sure what he was saying. She smiled when the rapid Spanish gave way to loud laughter, sharper and more pronounced than the brief low chuckle she usually heard from him. 

"Here you are ma'am, two rooms, connecting, on the fifth floor. Olivia grabbed the first key and shoved it deep into her pocket on the slim chance that any of the other guests checking in were part of their weekend conference. 

She thanked the woman at the check in counter, made her way back over to him as he finished the call.

"Buenes noches y buena suerte." He laughed one more time and hung up the phone.

"What?" His tone immediately dropped to its usual baseline of impatience. She was looking at him with one eyebrow raised. 

"Nothing. You acting like a human just makes me strangely uneasy." 

"What can I say, imminent torture puts things into perspective for me." He shoved his phone into his back pocket, grabbed his bag.

They started for the elevators.

"Buck up, you used to enjoy my company."

"Still do." They got in the elevator, Olivia hit the button. "I just enjoy it more in New York. Where we belong. Doing something that isn't undercover work."

"For the last time, this isn't undercover work. You took a train to your college with me. This is nothing more than an odd way to spend a weekend." 

They were silent as they got off the elevator.

"I am sorry you have to spend your weekend away from Maggie, though." 

"Don't do that."

"What?" She unlocked one of the doors.

"Be a decent person when I was enjoying ruining your afternoon. It takes the fun out of the challenge."

He dropped into the first chair he saw, content to stay where he was instead of moving to his own room.

She smiled, tossed her bag on the bed. 

"Well, I am sorry."

"Where's Noah?"

"With Lucy's mother." She looked at his phone as he laid it on the table. Were you talking to your mom?" 

"No. Nanny." His eyes were closed.

"Really?"

He opened his eyes. She recognized the shine that sat in them when he had a migraine threatening.

"What do you mean, really? My mother is in her seventies, she can't keep Maggie all weekend."

"No, not that." She was poking through the front pockets of his bag. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment on it.

"Did you think I was going to leave my infant with a few bottles and an emergency contact list?"

She chuckled. "No, I just assumed you'd hired a nanny from a service."

"Expecting Mary Poppins?" 

She moved to the bathroom, found a glass, put it under the faucet.

"Yeah, a little I guess." She'd raised her voice, calling it back out into the bedroom. Heard the air entering his nose as he sucked in a sharp breath. Her suspicions confirmed, she made her way back out to the bedroom.

His eyes were closed, head tilted back, so he didn't see her.

"Well, despite your strange assumptions about my neverending budget, there are limits to what I can afford." He didn't say that he'd felt oddly compelled to fill his daughter's life with the noises that had accompanied him in his childhood. His abuela's loud voice, her louder music, the smells of her cooking. Spanish. Florencia was an older woman that his mother knew through church, and the way her face crinkled when she smiled made his chest ache. He wanted his daughter to know what that felt like. The feeling of being cared for.

He heard the soft click of a glass touching the table next to him, felt Olivia's hand on his, turning it over so she could press two round pills into his hand. He recognized the feeling of his prescription medication. 

"Don't open your eyes." Her voice was soft, low so his pain wouldn't increase. She handed him the glass. He complied, put the pills in his mouth, swallowed water. 

"How'd you know?" He was starting to feel nauseous with the pain.

He could practically feel her smile. "I am a trained detective."

"Thanks, Liv." He barely muttered it, the exhaustion pulling him under.

He didn't feel her hand flutter against his hair as he fell asleep.

______________________________________________________

"Those are just darling."

Olivia was leaning in, her eyes shining, looking at what felt like the millionth picture of Bunny Potter as a bright eyed pagaent queen. They were within a larger group of people, but Bunny had warmed to her quickly, and they were getting on like best girlfriends. Bunny was making it almost too easy on her. 

Not that the encounter was without challenges.

He had been talking to some men in the group, but she could see him now, out of the corner of her eye, leaning on the bar counter and watching her like she was television with the most amused and delighted expression on his face. He looked like he was on the verge of tears with the effort to keep from bursting into laughter, and he was making it ridiculously hard to concentrate on her airhead facade. She could have smacked him.

Bunny laid a friendly hand on Olivia's. 

"I am just so happy to have found a friend at one of these things. I'm usually bored to tears by now."

Olivia offered a smile. "You are the sweetest." She heard a cough.

Bunny laughed like she'd made a joke, and hadn't just offered up a platitude. "I'm serious! These functions are nothing like the one's at Vanderbilt. My alma mater. You would fit in perfectly there!"

She could hear the intake of breath behind her, and her eyes flicked over to see him just a little behind her, with a look of pure glee on his face, hiding a grin behind his half full glass.

She smiled sweetly. "That is so sweet... Bunny." She could practically hear his internal laughter. "I'm just going to go and refresh my drink, but when I get back, I want to hear more about the modeling business. I feel like we've been talking about me all afternoon." They had barely even discussed her fake life at all. 

She turned. Fixed him with a withering gaze. "Honey, you want to come with me?" 

"Oh, but we're leaning on a bar right here."

"I like the other bar, the manager is working that one." She grabbed his arm, dug her nails into it and all but dragged him away. 

He was actually cackling, albeit quietly. 

"Barba-"

She let go of his arm, gave him a solid shove into the bar on the other side of the room.

He cut her off. "First, let me offer my apologies regarding my attitude about this weekend. Because I deeply underestimated how profoundly satisfying it would be to watch you try to relate to Miss Minnesota about bikini lines and hairspray." He tilted his head with an adoring look on his face. "This is the best day ever."

She suppressed her laughter, leaned in, caught sight of passing alumni, and offered a simpering smile to them, turning her threat into an embrace. "If you make this any harder than it has to be, you're going to wake up in the middle of the road tomorrow."

"So worth it." 

She shook her head, suppressed the smile, and leaned toward the bartender, ordered another glass of wine. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, because I'm losing brain cells by the minute, I'm wearing shoes that were designed to be so painful that a woman can't focus on anything else, and I have bimbo lipstick on my mouth. My day isn't going as great."

He grinned. "Its pretty bimbo lipstick."

Her face registered her amused shock. "You're a little drunk." She smirked at him, taking in his glassy eyes and loose grin. 

"Oh, supremely. That's how I got through seven years here, I figure why break the streak?"

She smiled, shook her head. "Your rarified education a trial for you, counselor?"

"The education was excellent, the company, debatable."

She saw Bunny horrifying another woman out of the corner of her eye, grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the photos set up on easels in the corner. "Come on, let's look at that debatable company for a second. I need a four minute break from Bunny."

The table and easels were festooned with official class photos from about ten years of Harvard Law, and many more casual photos of students that alumni submitted from various events throughout their time at Harvard.

Olivia walked among them, looking at every photo. Rafael nipped her wine out of her hand, took a sip from it. 

They hadn't let go of eachother's hands.

"You know," she didn't stop her diligent assessment of the photos, "if you would just help me find the photo of you that we both know I'm looking for, we'd get back to Bunny faster, and the hilarity would continue."

He smiled, rolled his eyes. Leaned in and gestured with her glass.

"Hoohooh..." her smile spread so wide her face hurt. "Baby Barba. Look at you. Harvard Law."

"Shut up. You wouldn't be so smug if pictures of you at twenty two were slapped up for your colleague to critique."

"I was hot when I was twenty two." She said it so dismissively, never looking away from the photo, so that he laughed loud enough that a few people in the vicinity turned their heads.

She noticed another photo, far more casual, to the right of the class photo. There was a group of about seven students, sitting on the steps of a charming building. One of the other students in the photo must of submitted the photo, because she knew he hadn't. But he was in it, looking even younger than his law school class photo, maybe eighteen. Most of the students in the photo were looking at the camera, but he wasn't. He had his arm looped over the neck of a fresh faced girl, with a pretty waterfall of light brown hair and an ironic smile on her face. Recognition pulled at the corner of Olivia's conscience. Young Rafael was looking at the girl with such abject adoration that it made her smile. Her eyes narrowed, looking at the girl's face.

She abruptly turned her attention back to the law school class shot. 

"Can't imagine you willingly being on the outskirts of anything." She said it casually, her tone revealing nothing. He was to the far right of the photo. "Is this in alphabetical order?" 

"Hm? Yeah I think so." 

Her eyes quickly ran over the class photo, identified the girl, two people away from Rafael in the official photo. 

She knew it was Rita. Aside from the sheer likelihood based off the proximity of their last names, the determined girl looked like her. She was younger, and her face far more innocent and happy, but it was her. She knew the two had attended law school together, but didn't know that they had attended undergrad together as well, much less that they had been close at one point. She felt compelled not to mention this to him, let her subconscious work on it for now.

He had never once mentioned that they'd been friends. She wondered what occured between them that changed that. 

_____________________________________________________

"Did you do it?" 

Rita glanced behind her, buttoned her pants. He was standing in the doorway of her off campus apartment bathroom, chewing on the skin on his thumb, looking like a ghost. 

"Do you mind?" 

"Give me a break, I've seen it all before." 

He came into the room, leaned against the counter next to her, his hands braced behind him on its edge. He swallowed.

"Did you do it right?"

"I'm a twenty year old Harvard student. I speak four languages and have a 4.0 GPA. I can pee on a stick." Her stomach was at her feet.

His hand crept across the counter, grabbed hers. She squeezed.

"I can't have a baby. I don't want a baby." She could feel the tears coming, but refused to let them fall.

"I know." He peeked at her. "You don't have to." 

She scoffed, started pacing. "Are you kidding? When my mother finds out about this-" her breath hitched, "She would just love an excuse to drag me home." She was supposed to be smart, accomplished and perfect, but she wasn't supposed to have ambition. She was supposed to attend Vanderbilt, graduate with honors, as her sister had, and then marry a man with the kind of career she wanted for herself. A baby was just the excuse her mother needed. She would be married to a perfect, chiseled, Republican attorney inside a month. A face popped into her head. She nearly vomited. 

He pushed off from the counter, snaked a hand behind her neck and pulled her in against his chest roughly. He rocked them both for a moment, his fingers digging into her hair. He wasn't careful with her, and was in fact hurting her a little, but in that moment it was exactly what she needed. It anchored her, kept the hysteria at bay. She grabbed two handfuls of his t-shirt, took some ragged breathes, chuckling when she smelled her own fabric softener along with the mint and cigarettes that made up his smell. So he'd lied to her face last week when she asked him if he had anything to do with the expensive product's disappearance. She filed it away for later.

He sensed when she was steadier, and let her go. They each leaned on opposite sides of the wall.

"Does Stanford know?" 

She had only been casually seeing the young man for a few months after they met at a function her mother dragged her home for. She liked him well enough, he just... bored her. As most people did.

She switched positions, coming to lean next to him on the wall. "Absolutely not. The less people that orbit my mother's world catching wind of this, the better." She pushed her hands into her hair. "I can't believe this is happening." He hooked his arm around her neck. She only allowed his comfort for a moment.

She started pacing. He stayed leaning against the wall. 

"If I'm pregnant, she will find out, and all of this, everything I've worked for, stops. If this," she gestured toward her stomach, "is Stanford's, do you know how quickly she'll have me in a D.A.R. chapter meeting, with an engagement ring on my finger?" She scoffed, the noise petering out into hysterical laughter. "And God," she gestured toward him, "if I'm pregnant with a-"

The whole room suddenly became pregnant with tension.

"A what?" He pushed off from the wall, his shoulders straightening, proud in a way that didn't fit in the moment. He looked bruised.

She cursed her error. "I didn't mean it like that."

His eyes were shining, but he set his jaw in a determined gesture. The combination strangely reminded her of a stray puppy.

"No, you started, don't stop now. What is it that I am that would be so appalling to a Park Avenue wife-by-the-hour?" 

Her back stiffened. "You don't get to speak about my mother that way." Her indignation sounded briefly like superiority to his ears.

"Why? Because I'm what? Latino? Poor? A scholarship student? Or were you just going to ignore facts and refer to me as an immigrant?" She flinched. "What lovely adjective were you going to use to capture your disgust for me and the parasite I supposedly put in there?" He was pissing her off, but she could see the hurt under his petulant gaze.

"Calm down, Rafael, I was referring to my mother, not me. I'm not like that."

He looked at her standing there, the picture of collegiate beauty with perfect skin and trimmed hair, her slim jeans and sweatshirt more expensive than half his wardrobe. Even dressed casually, she looked like she belonged on the Harvard brochure. He tugged at his own jeans that never stayed in place.

The space in the bathroom suddenly felt much wider. It felt like there was something sitting on his chest, suffocating him. He was winded and despondent, like he'd spent years chasing her only to realize that catching up to her was hopeless.

He pulled it all close to him where he could keep it inside. Angled his chin up.

"Aren't you?" 

Her face registered the betrayal of his words. He had wanted that, but when he saw the actual hurt on her face he felt ashamed, and reckless with it. The desire to crash it all before it crushed him first took over. 

He reached over, picked the stick up off the counter, the change in altitude forcing a few tears out of his eyes.

"Oh look, lucky you. You won't have to abort my inferior spawn."

He left her in the bathroom, her arms wrapped around herself, and walked out of her apartment.

______________________________________________________

"Hey 180!" A man approached them at the photo table, slapped Barba on the back. "God, I dont think I've seen you at one of these things in... well, I don't think I've ever seen you at one of these things!" The quoffed blonde man shook hands with Rafael, and let his eyes rake over Olivia, taking in her dark wrap dress, her tanned legs. She risked the smallest eyebrow raise at Barba, who met her with the blandest expression before he introduced them.

"Francis Jordan, this Olivia. Liv, this is Francis Jordan, an old classmate of mine."

They shook hands, and he didn't even attempt to hide the fact that he was leering at her.

"Damn 180, I didn't know you got married. And to someone painfully more attractive than you." He winked. She had to suppose that this was a priveliged asshole's attempt at charm. Offered her best empty smile. 

Rafael's hand flexed in hers a little, and she used a nail to poke the back of his hand. "Not married." He delivered it smoothly. "We've only been seeing eachother for a few months."

"Well damn, enjoy the honeymoon phase." The jackass licked his lips, looking down her body like she was a rib eye. It was gross, and degrading, but it so comically lacked any hint of subtlety, so that when their eyes briefly met they both quickly looked away from eachother before they started laughing at the one note, idiotic tool.

"Listen man," Jordan's tone changed on a dime, adopting concern, "I just wanted to come over and tell you that we've all been thinking about you, since-"

Olivia wanted to pull him away, protect him from what she suddenly realized was coming.

"-we all heard about that stuff with that baby. We were all so glad when you were found not guilty."

His shoulders pulled back, adopting a sense of pride she knew he didn't feel. 

"Thank you. I appreciate that." His tone was tight, and the hand that was in hers shook a little.

"Yeah." The simpering jackass was enjoying this. "I mean, we all knew you weren't guilty, but hey, Dworkin costs enough that he better have been able to talk you outta that one!" His laugh was loud and raw, like they were discussing a sports game and not an infant's right to die. "Who says money doesn't buy happiness, right?" 

She squeezed his hand, apologizing and anchoring him. "Tell me, Mr. Jordan, what is it you do?"

"Ah sweetheart, I'm a campaign consultant. My firm was responsible for getting the president elected."

She gave a nod, offered a small fascinated smile. "So we have you to thank for our current administration?" She put a hand on his arm, glanced down. "And no ring? With all those pretty women in the white house?"

He smirked. "Well sweetheart, I'm a busy man."

She tilted her head, smiled. "Busy, not wealthy enough to buy one of those wives-by-the-hour, or so charmless that no amount of money in the world could turn one of their heads?" She scrunched her nose. "I suppose it doesn't matter though, because no matter the reason, you still wind up having a hot date with your hand every night." Gave his arm a friendly rub. "So nice to meet you."

He muttered something under his breath as he walked away. 

She turned back toward him as he was dumping the rest of her wine in his mouth. 

"You know, fashion industry Liv who loves pagaent photos probably should have just thought he was being considerate."

"You ok?"

"Fabulous." He looked calm, but sounded shattered.

"Hey." She gave his hand a tug. "Don't give him what he wants. He wanted it to hurt you."

"Correction. He wanted it to hurt my ego. Because he has the emotional range of a thimble and thinks that every feeling a man has is inherently linked to his genitalia."

She dropped his hand, moved to him and slid an arm around him. "Then don't give him what he wants." She inclined her head, leaned in, brushed her lips against his jaw. For appearances. Saw the corner of his mouth turn up a little. "See? Already more action than Casper the not-so-friendly ghost is going to see for the next year." She took her empty glass out of his hand. "Now come on, come get me another glass of wine. You finished my enduring-the-socialite juice." She rubbed his back on the way to the bar, more at eased when she heard him laugh.

He was ordering her wine when she remembered.

"Hey." She hooked her arm through his. For appearances. "Why did he call you 180?" 

"Ugh. Because at Harvard you're known by your successes or your failures." 

______________________________________________________

The music in the off campus apartment was loud, and Rita could barely hear the yelling of her friend as she made her way toward the kitchen in search of something that would help her pave the way toward a decent time.

Finals were over, the LSATs had been taken, and everyone in the room was either lucky enough to be celebrating their acceptance into their chosen school, or trying to forget about the rejection notice they received. 

She was one of the former, though she wouldn't tolerate anyone suggesting that luck had anything to do with it. She'd busted her ass for the last four years, acing every exam, studying until she couldn't see straight. She'd gotten a 176 on the LSATs, practically the highest score anyone could receive. 

Practically.

She focused on the loud music to drown out the incessant rambling of her companion. A nice girl, whose father was the DA in Queens, so Rita felt compelled to endure her. She just wasn't sure how much more babbling about highlights she could tolerate. The girl had been accepted to Stanford's graduate program for foreign communications. A perfectly acceptable school. But she wanted to talk about the subtle differences between caramel and honey undertones.

Academia and highlights had her experiencing some serious cognitive dissonance, and she needed a fucking drink before her head exploded.

The lights were low, and the music was loud, but she saw him, sitting on the counter in the kitchen with his feet propped up on a chair in front of him, a bottle of whiskey in one hand. He'd filled out some, and his clothes and hair were all pulled in, closer to him than the boisterous boy who would belt out every song on the radio while they laid in a tangle of limbs together on her bed. He popped a small white pill in his mouth, swallowed some of the whiskey.

She'd seen him in class where they frequently went toe to toe, and in passing, but they hadn't really spoken personally in nearly two years.

He was with a couple of other guys, and there was a debate going on.

Their eyes met, he took another drink. She smirked at him, challenging him.

He held her gaze for a second, looking smug, and a little cocky. She took the invitation, made her way over to him.

"Get outta here, Mr. 180." Francis Jordan was addressing Rafael, swaying where he stood. "She had a comparable position, with similar wages. Her case was baseless." Francis Jordan's blonde hair fell out of its careful style as he tilted his head back, recklessly dumped vodka down his throat.

Rafael leaned on his knees. "Section VII, jerkoff. Prohibiting a fertile female from working a dangerous job if her capacity to become pregnant doesn't prohibit her performance is in fact sexual discrimination."

"So its discrimination now to give a woman comparable wages, and a comparable position, and allow her to do a job that's arguably easier and safer?" Jordan scoffed. "I guess feminists won't be happy until they need jock straps to hold their balls at the gym." 

She sidled up next to Rafael as he halfheartedly gestured toward their classmate, crudely miming jerking off as he took another pull from the bottle.

The incessant rambling about highlights faded behind her, and she felt a pleasant humming feeling as she hopped up next to him on the counter, letting her feet dangle as she took the whiskey from him, drank deep, and joined the fray.

She leaned forward a little, addressing Francis. "International Union, UAW v. Johnson Controls." She glanced next to her, saw him smirking at her. She smiled primly at Francis and his blank expression, leaned in. "If you disagree with Justices Blacknum, Marshall, Stevens, O'Connor and Souter that it shouldn't be up to an employer whether or not a woman decides it's necessary or appropriate to perform any work function because of her WOMB, please allow me to point you toward the The Pregnancy Discrimination Act of 1978 to help you diversify your limited, neanderthal perspective." She smirked at Francis, now pasty as he paled, humiliated. "Now are you going to pass me that vodka, so I can get as recklessly drunk as you are, or do you feel the need to monitor my consumption because I have a uterus?"

Francis swallowed, passed her the bottle as the surrounding group suppressed laughter, poorly.

Their classmate muttered something, and stumbled into the crowd.

When she tilted her head, letting her hair swing over her shoulder to smile at him, he was watching her, suppressing a grin.

"He thinks I want a jockstrap for my balls, when I'm already carrying around his." Fluttered her eyelashes at him.

"You know, I was enjoying slowly flaying him alive, and you just took that joy from me." He bumped his shoulder into hers, took a drink.

"I hear congratulations are in order, Mr. Barba. Harvard Law. Congratulations."

"Yeah, they don't usually turn you away when you get a 180 on the LSATs." He looked so smug she briefly thought about shoving him off the counter. "What was your score again?"

He didn't look at all like he'd spent months not sleeping, using caffeine, drugs and all other means to study his way to the perfect score. He couldn't be anything less than perfect. Not with a very necessary scholarship and something to prove on the line. 

She smiled, leaned into his shoulder to get a look at the array of pills on the counter next to him. "What are you taking?"

"Ridilin."

"You know that shit's bad for your psyche, right?"

He took another pull of whiskey, glanced down her body. "What can I say, it was my dirty companion while I survived this ordeal, so despite the negative side affects, I can't quite quit it yet."

She laughed, bumped his shoulder. "Listen, we're gonna be stuck together for another three years, let's bury the hatchet."

He shot her a placid smile. "You got it, Le Cerf Agile. Hatchet buried."

"Doesn't he die at the end of the story?"

He shrugged. "Don't they all?" 

She turned a little, pressed herself against him. "You know what group you're in yet?"

"Naw. I'm hoping for A."

"I'm in A." She paused. "R.B. and R.C. So I'm assuming that we're going to be in the same group."

He let out a humorless laugh. "At least we'll get Professor Linksi before he goes on leave." He paused. "I heard you're dating his TA."

"Yeah." She heaved a sigh. "I'll have to dump him before then. Too bad."

"He does have an impressive trust fund." He muttered it into his bottle.

"I'll miss his big cock more. The trustfund doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter because you've always had it."

She rolled her eyes. He was reaching introspective drunk. Some things just didn't change.

She leaned in a little more, peaked at the pills next to him. "Anymore Ridilin in there?"

"Thought it was bad for you."

She caught his eye, stared him down. "I like to do things that are bad for me. Sometimes." Cutting to the chase.

His eyes drifted down, took in her perfectly cut tank top, her jeans that would pay for a semester's worth of textbooks. She looked smug.

He reached for the last pill with a little 'R' on it, popped it into his own mouth.

He had the whiskey bottle halfway to his mouth when she grabbed his chin, pushed her mouth against his, her tongue sweeping into his mouth to take the pill, swallow it. She was cackling at him when he shoved the whiskey bottle into his mouth, drank deep in an attempt to recover from the shock.

She hopped down, nudged the chair out of her way, and stood between his legs. "Come on, let's go back to my place and get a jump on tearing into eachother. We'll call it course preparation."

He looked tempted, but a little apprehensive, shooting her an almost shy smile. "Can't convince your trust fund dick to come over? Why do you want to ruin a perfectly respectable two year streak of abstaining from eachother?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "You're here, I'm horny." She leaned in so their noses were aligned. Inhaled. "Plus you smell good." Rubbed herself on him when he chuckled, his breath hitching a little. "No, I'm serious, you smell great- subtle, but expensive, and you're shirt is soft..."

He huffed. Looked past her. "Fucking fine. I stole you're goddamn fabric softener."

"I knew it! You fucking thief!"

"Who spends eighteen dollars on a laundry product!?"

"You don't get to sound superior here, chump! I asked you, point blank, and you lied to my face! You didn't even hesitate!"

He cackled loudly, people in the kitchen glancing at them, but they were focused on eachother.

"If you're going to be so trusting, leaving that shit just sitting in your laundry basket, you deserve to have it stolen."

"Don't give me your bullshit moral relativism. You know that's a thin fucking excuse!" She was on her toes, pushed up so they were nose to nose, her hands on either side of his hips. "You owe me eighteen dollars you cheap son of a bitch."

He trapped her with his knees a little. "I'd be willing to consider working it off."

She smiled, looking triumphant. "Fine, but I'm gonna make you work hard, you slut."


	4. Chapter 4

"No wait, I can find a better one." 

They were walking along the quiet campus road, and Olivia had a glass of wine and her painful heels hooked with her fingers in one hand, staring at her phone in her other hand. She was was scrolling through the photos, looking for evidence.

He was walking along the low wall that ran parallel to the road, a glass of scotch in his hand. No one stopped them when they left the reception with them.

"Ha." Olivia huffed out her triumph, passed the phone to him. He teetered a little on the wall as he took it, and she wondered if he used to walk on it this way when he'd been a student here.

He looked at the phone with a skeptical expression. Stared for a minute. She watched him, smug. 

"Damnit. You were hot." He shoved the phone back into her hand.

"Told you." She was laughing as she put the phone back into her clutch. 

He took a liberal drink from his glass. "I'll concede your point, and I won't ask why you walk around with photos of yourself at twenty two on your phone." They continued walking slowly.

"Sometimes a girl just needs a reminder that she was once beautiful, counselor. I'm human." She was smiling, looking around the campus. It really was beautiful here.

She looked over to catch him staring at her. He swallowed. Resumed walking.

She cleared her throat. She wasn't so naive that she hadn't been a little concerned about this weekend, knowing that the change in scenery, the rare circumstances, might work to blur their carefully drawn boundaries. Tried to clear her head.

He spoke before she could.

"Today was... interesting. Not entirely bad." He shot her a grin. "You made a new friend."

"Ah yes." She nodded. "Me and Bunny. A friendship for the ages. The Thelma, to my Louise."

"The Horatio to your Hamlet."

She smirked. "I hope I'm Horatio in this scenario."

"Both Thelma and Louise die at the end of the movie. But you are the one with a gun, so I suppose that makes you Horatio by default."

She patted her pretty clutch in agreement.

"Well," she heaved a sigh, "at least I have her business card, and we know where to go from here. So it was worth it."

"Please. It would have been worth it just to hear you utter the phrase 'that's just darling' more than five times."

"What can I say, I always was great at undercover work." Despite the nature of the work, she felt good, a little loose. It had been a while since she'd put on a dress, had a night off from mothering. 

"Your performance was almost too good." He shot her a skeptical look, like she'd secretly been harbouring the desire to squeal over lipstick her entire life.

She shrugged. "If I want something, I'll do what I have to do to get it."

He stepped off the wall, smiling at her in the way he did only when he'd had more liquor than was probably healthy. Came to stand in front of her. "Say, 'all I want is world peace.' Please."

She laughed. "Hey, I don't want anything from you, buddy."

He stepped a little closer, and she didn't miss the suggestion in his eyes.

Fuck. She knew this was a bad idea.

She ignored her warm stomach, turned around, looking at the dorms surrounding them. "Did you ever dorm here?" Change the subject.

He breathed out. "No. These weren't dorms when I was here. The Bradstreet Gate's right over there. This used to just be grass. We'd study out here."

She smirked. "Study? Are you sure?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Yes. That's about ninety percent of what I did here."

Her smile spread. "Interesting, because that's not what, what was her name again?" She inclined her head, feigned confusion.

He huffed. "Misha."

"Ah yes. Misha. See, that's not the way she remembers it."

They'd bumped into Misha during a second lap of the reception, when Olivia decided that she needed to break up her time with Bunny so it didn't seem like she was zeroing in on her. Let her come to them. Her head was also throbbing just from the pitch of Bunny's voice.

Barba actually seemed mildly happy to see her, a tall pretty black woman with an English accent. Olivia was so happy to speak with someone with brain cells, so she allowed the bimbo facade to slip a little.

Misha kept a hand on his arm even after offering a polite hug. "I can't believe you're actually here, I don't think I've seen you in twenty years. How's Rita?" 

He twisted a little. "She's good. We still see eachother every now and again."

"Every now and again? My God." She laughed, addressing Olivia. "I swear those two were always together. Even when they hated eachother, which was more often than not, they still would only study with eachother because they didn't think anyone else could keep up." She shot Barba an amused look.

"Well, no one else could." He muttered it, so only Olivia heard it. 

Olivia smiled. "They're still pretty much like that. They go toe-to-toe in court a lot." Felt Barba's finger dig into her side. Right. Fashion industry.

"Oh right. Rita went over to the dark side didn't she." Misha looked at Barba, clearly excited to gossip. "I swear, I would pay loads of money to watch those two in court. They were both always so intense in class." Olivia joined her with polite laughter. Barba smirked.

Olivia continued to smile, let her eyes find Bunny in the crowd with their actual target, Christopher Potter. He was older, and actually very handsome. He was telling a story to a group of people, and had them all laughing. Olivia turned back to their companion. Smiled. "So, what do you do?" 

"Oh, I rep a pharmaceutical company now. I'm not allowed to say which." She lightly laughed. "This guy though," she gestured toward Barba with a glass, "was practically a walking pharmacy the entire time I knew him." She laughed loudly.

They were standing together, their arms casually linked, so she felt him stiffen.

He smiled at her, shook his head. "That's not true."

"Oh." Olivia inclined her head, ignored him. "He was? Well, don't stop now, give me the details." Laughed with Misha like they were partners in crime. She could feel him squirm. 

"Oh, I swear, if you had it, he would take it! Ridilin, vicodin, xanax-"

He coughed. "Those were prescriptions." Olivia ignored him.

Misha continued. "Ecstasy, weed, some coke on special occasions." She laughed raucously.

Olivia looked at him, her eyebrows raised. "Oh." He looked like he wanted to die.

"Lord, yes." Misha was having the best time. "He usually chased it with a healthy amount of booze! But hey, we were all like that. Harvard. When in Rome, am I right?" 

"Mmhm. Well," Olivia looked between them jovially, "I guess it's just a good thing there are no cops around, right?" 

She and Misha laughed together like it was the funniest joke in the world. Barba choked on his scotch.

____________________________________________

"A walking pharmacy." Olivia drew the words out, enjoying this.

He scratched the back of his head, looking horrified. "I was a little more intense back then." 

"More intense? Than you are now?" She raised an eyebrow.

He rolled his eyes. "I was young. Doesn't everyone calm with age? Plus I only did that shit through college, I stopped once I was at the Brooklyn DA's." He paused. "For the most part." Bobbed his head to the side, a sheepish gesture. "Come to think of it, I was probably going through some serious withdrawals that first year." He shrugged. "That explains some of my... behavior."

____________________________________________

Rafael silently screamed into the phone, his head falling back, hand repeatedly punching the air so hard that the files on his lap shifted. He was in a hard backed seat, his legs propped up in front of him.

"What the fuck do you mean, you took my fucking case Davies? I've been working on it for three fucking weeks." He was literally vibrating with rage. It was the first big case he'd been assigned. He pulled at the tie at his neck, attempted to get some air. 

He didn't have time for this shit.

The voice came over his cell phone, tinny, but distinctly nasally, so he knew it was the asshole prick that had been the bane of his existence since he'd joined the Brooklyn DA's office months ago. Seven years of schooling, three prestigious internships (unpaid), a mountain of recommendation letters, and he was playing slap and fucking tickle with some thirty year old prick who read it in some self-help book that the only way to get ahead was to try and take down the loudest person in the office. 

Well, game fucking on.

"I don't know what to tell you Rafael." His eye actually twitched at the way this white motherfucker said his name, like he was some goddamn ninja turtle. "I spoke with the DA, and he agreed that if you couldn't dedicate the time to this case, that it would be better in my hands." The nasally motherfucker was so smug, he sounded like he was pinching his own nose.

The rage just bloomed in his chest, burned his throat. He'd taken one goddamn afternoon off.

He sprang up, sitting up straight from his reclined position. "You spoke to the motherfucking DA about me, you cocksucking, Prius driving, motherfucker? That's the way you want to play the game?" He dragged a breath in, let the rage spread, almost enjoyed it. "Listen up, you deviated-septumed piece of shit. You want a war, you got one. After I tank you to anyone who will fucking listen, I'm coming for every single case you have. And I'm taking 'em all. Down to every petty indecent exposure accusation you got, I'm gonna be the asshole standing over your shoulder. And you want to know how I'm going to fucking do that, you underhanded little fucking prick? On Monday fucking morning, I'm telling the first secretary I come across that you jerked off in the men's bathroom before your first court appearance because you didn't have the fucking balls to man up, you stress-ball-squeezing cocksucker. It'll spread like a cancer by noon." 

He took a cleansing breath, knew that the vein in his forehead was protruding, could hear the ragged, nasally breathing of a stunned Charles Davies over the line. Knew he'd made his point, but now the desire to burn it all down bloomed in his chest. He continued. 

"And after I'm done with ALL of that, I'm going to come down to your sad office next to the ladies room and slap your face so hard that you'll finally fucking breathe right for the first time in your sad, wait-listed-at-Columbia existence." This was actually starting to feel good. "Oh, and Davies?" He held the phone in front of his face, with the speaker close to his mouth. "You know Christa, your pretty fiance? She offered to blow me at the Christmas party, and that's the God's honest fucking truth."

He snapped the phone closed in his hand, and made to whip the thing at the wall.

"Oh, you ain't doing that in here, boy."

His head snapped to the door, saw the nurse that he'd become familiar with, the older black woman with braided hair and large, pillowy arms, he didn't know her name. She had her hands on her hips, and a stern look on her face.

So she'd heard his little outburst.

His hand went to the back of his neck.

"Ah, sorry, you weren't supposed to-"

"Hear you speaking like a heathen with your daddy laid up two feet from you? The entire floor heard you."

He felt seven years old for a moment, when his mother overheard him cursing outside of church.

"Sorry..."

She shook her head. "Patrice."

"Right. Patrice. I apologize. Just... work stress."

She moved into the room, went to the intubated man on the bed. She looked at Rafael's feet propped up on the bed so disdainfully that he moved, putting them on the floor.

She spoke while she worked to check her patient's vitals. "Work stress, home stress... lady stress," she eyed him disapprovingly, "you been coming here every night for six weeks and its just stress, stress, stress with you. You are the most tightly wound, neurotic person I have ever come across in this hospital, and there are surgeons here. What are you, twenty-four?"

"Twenty-five."

"You have to be the most coiled up, jaded twenty-five year old I've ever met."

He huffed a humorless laugh. "Have you been talking to my mother?" 

"Boy, I don't need to talk to your mama when me and every other night nurse been listening to you in here night after night. We have a bet going to see when you'll pop a blood vessel." She squeezed a bag, scribbled something on the chart.

He chuckled. "I could hold my breath if you have a lot riding on that." He felt suddenly exhausted from the outburst.

She smiled, her whole face crinkling with it. He rubbed his aching chest, smiled back, because it was all he could do when faced with that much personified joy.

"The way you're going, I'mma get a new pair of shoes by the end of the week. My aching back thanks you."

He silently chuckled, watched as she adjusted the intubation on his father. She glanced at him.

"How would your daddy feel with you using him as a foot rest while you used those nasty words on another person?"

He jerked a shoulder. "I would say fairly favorably. His epitaph will probably sound a lot like the Rich Man's." 

She cocked an eyebrow.

"In hell he lifted up his eyes.' Proverbs 16:23." He scratched his nose. His head was aching. It had been doing that a lot lately.

"Don't talk like that in front of your father. It's blasphemous."

He looked at the husk of his father with a tube in his throat, swallowed. "He wouldn't mind."

She ignored him. "It seems to me you shouldn't be using nasty words like that, being you're wearing that fancy suit and you're smart enough to quote the bible. Powerful men don't need to yell, you know."

He scrunched the side of his nose. "You're kind of rude."

"And you're kind of vile. If you keep screaming, people will just start to tune you out."

He nodded, his eyes on his father. She wasn't wrong. His father had hit, sworn and screamed his way into an empty existence, with a son that wouldn't return his calls and an ex-wife that couldn't even bear to be in a room with him when he was in a coma. He felt so dispassionate about his father that he couldn't even expel the energy to just pull the damn plug, and end it. And wouldn't that just amuse the son of a bitch to no end. His son, sitting here staring at him rather than just killing his miserable ass. His hand curled into a fist. 

He couldn't give him the goddamn satisfaction, let him die a martyr at his own son's hand. 

It was too poetic a death. 

He wanted to finally say everything to him, force him to face his own culpability for his miserable fucking life. Tell him, in minute detail, what he did to create this end, and he was so paralyzed by that unchecked rage that he could neither walk out the door nor pull the plug, knowing that once he did either, he wouldn't be able to go back to what he was.

So he sat there.

Patrice finished her check. Looked at him with kind eyes. 

"Honey, you should go home, get some rest. Come back tomorrow refreshed, and go through your options then."

He looked up at her, knew he looked like a disheveled wreck. Smiled. 

"I'm fine. And I really do apologize for that outburst. It won't happen again."

She huffed out a laugh like she didn't quite believe him. "Alright. You call me if one of you's needs anything."

He used his foot to roughly boot the foot of the older man in the bed. "Naw. He's good. He's oddly low maintenance. The worst company though."

She barked out a laugh as she left the room. "You're a little nuts, but I like it." She chuckled. "Stress-ball-squeezing cocksucker. That's nasty, but its funny!"

He settled into the hard backed chair, smiling, and fell into a fitful sleep. 

____________________________________________ 

"Honey, honey wake up. You need to get going, sweetie."

"Ugh." He slapped a hand over his face, felt his feet hit the floor as he sat up. Patrice was bent in front of him, a hand on his arm.

"Sorry-I'm up. Sorry. I'm going." It wasn't the first time he'd slept through visiting hours.

"No, baby. Your daddy. Honey, he's gone."

His eyes popped open, cleared of sleep. He looked at the bed. 

It was empty.

"Oh." 

He was just gone, and he'd slept through the whole thing.

"I'm sorry honey." Her hand rubbed comfortingly on his arm. "We were prepared for this though." He'd lingered for six weeks. Longer than any doctor even predicted.

He'd been dying so long it had started to feel like a broken promise.

The bed was empty. His head felt hollow. 

Patrice tilted her head, took his condition in. 

"Honey, is there anyone I can call? Anyone who can come be with you?"

He refocused on her kind, wrinkled face. Swallowed, even though there was nothing inside him.

"No. It's just... Me. I-" He gave her a hollow smile. "No."

She gave his arm one last comforting squeeze, and left the room.

It was over.

He was alone.

____________________________________________

Rita was in the middle of a second REM cycle, enjoying the first night of decent sleep she'd had in months when her phone started buzzing. 

She threw it on the floor, curled into her pillow.

The buzzing just continued.

Despite the late hour, and the fact that it was Friday, she became paranoid that it was the EADA, so she ignored the grunt of her companion and scrambled out of bed, snatching the phone off the floor, flicking it open and pressing it to her ear.

She didn't even have time to utter a word, because he was already speaking.

"Come down here right now, or I'm finishing the rest of this expensive bottle of scotch that I couldn't afford and you'll be responsible for my bloated corpse when they find it in the Hudson tomorrow."

She slapped a hand over her eye, looked at the time. "Barba? Its two in the goddamn morning." She turned away from the man in the bed.

"Yeah, got it. Get. Down. Here." 

"Stop shouting, people are sleeping."

"Jesus fucking Christ Rita, get the fuck down here before I start setting off your neighbor's car alarms."

She tugged a robe on. "I'm fucking coming, you crazy person. Quiet down, and stay put."

"Just standing on the street corner like a hooker, Calhoun. Get down here before I wind up going down on the first person with a crisp Andrew Jackson." The line went dead.

"Jesus." She threw a coat on and ran out of her apartment, praying that he wasn't already harassing the doorman.

"What the fuck Barba?"

He spread his arms wide when he saw her, and she saw that he did indeed have a bottle of scotch dangling from his fingers. It was only half full. He'd left the office at two in the afternoon, but he was still wearing the remnants of the suit he'd worn in to work that day. It looked like he'd slept in it.

"Are you fucking crazy? You're a fucking public servant standing in the middle of the road with an open bottle of liquor in your hand!" She hissed it at him as she moved in, took the bottle, shoving it into her jacket. 

He pointed a finger at her, swayed a little, his eyebrows raised. "Be fucking honest with me Calhoun. I'm fucking serious. Did you know Davies was working to fuck me over?"

"What? You talked to Davies? Is that why he was crying on the phone with his fiance?"

"Rita, fucking answer me. No bullshit."

"Will you stop shouting curse words?"

"Naw, I'm getting 'em out now. After tonight I'm done." He sniffed.

"Jesus, what?" She pulled her coat in tighter.

"Cursing. Shouting. Powerful men don't curse or shout. Write that down." He was speaking to the air, swaying a little.

She tossed up her hands. "Ok. Good for you. Now go home."

"Answer my question."

"What? What's the matter with you, you're fucking drunk. Go home."

"Did you?" He swayed closer, stepping into the light from her building. 

"Rafael, are you crying?" 

"Answer me."

"No, I didn't fucking know Davies was doing anything. What is up with you?"

"S'all good." He paused, satisfied. "Good. Wanna help me then?" He raised his eyebrows, but his lips were trembling, his blind eyes filled with tears. 

"With what? It's fucking two in the morning."

"I'm going to go bust the windows in Davies's new fucking Prius." He swayed. "You in?"

"Fuck. No I'm not fucking in. We've been working at the DA's office for less than a year and you want to risk it by smashing in the windows of some asshole's shitty car?"

"No, I want to break the goddamn windows of some prick's pride and joy, and it happens to be a fucking shitty car."

"We're public fucking servants dipshit, officers of the court, we can't get caught vandalizing someone else's property."

He tossed his hands up. "Then I guess we shouldn't get caught, eh, gringita?"

"What the fuck has gotten into you?" She shoved his shoulder, saw his face crumple a little before he took the scotch back from her, drank from it. 

"Rafael, seriously, you're scaring me. What the fuck is going on?"

"S'nothing. My father kicked it."

She stopped.

"What? You're- you never even said he was sick." She didn't think he'd ever even mentioned the man once in the entire time she'd known him. 

"Welp. Now he's not." He shrugged.

"Jesus Rafael, are you-"

"Its fine, I'm fine." He nodded manically.

"You're not-"

"I'm fine! I'm not going to stand around, doing nothing-" his voice cracked, "while that prick just gives it to me."

"Does your mom-"

"Rita." He was shaking, looked like he was about to break. "I'm fucking fine. Now. Are you going to stand there, and be a self righteous prick, or are you going to help me bust up a reasonably priced, fuel efficient, midrange vehicle that has great gas mileage?"

She huffed out her hysteria, feeling torn. Pictured her own father bailing her out of jail. Looked at him, standing in front of her, shattered and on the verge of a breakdown. She didn't know how to help him. 

"Jesus. Where the hell are we even going to get a bat at this hour?"

He clapped his hands together once, a resounding noise in the quiet of her upscale neighborhood. "I don't fucking know, but look at you, going all League of Their Own, solving problems instead of creating them. I'm loving the energy." He hopped a little, and the threatening tears receded.

She tossed her head back, knowing she was going to regret this. "Come on Meyer Lansky, let's go bust up Davies's car and hope it doesn't completely derail our futures."

____________________________________________

"We're going to miss the train." There were three people ahead of them in line.

He grunted. "If you think I'm walking out of this hotel without coffee, you're going to be very shocked when we're sprinting to catch our train in," he checked his watch, "forty minutes."

Olivia's own desire for caffeine had her rolling her eyes, but staying in the line. She blamed him. She'd always been a coffee drinker, but she met him and became a mother within a very short span of time, and she wasn't quite certain which of those things increased her dependency on coffee.

His leg was shaking, she wasn't sure if from a nervous gesture or his desire for caffeine.

Last night was a little weird.

Because of their little walk, they'd missed the shuttle that transported guests from the campus to the hotel. She had suspected he'd done that on purpose, not wanting be stuck in a shuttle with old classmates and Christopher Potter, whom she'd noticed he'd successfully avoided all night.

She didn't mind the walk back to the hotel. It was late, and most of the college partyers were passed out in bed, no doubt trying to catch a few hours of sleep before their intense classes started the next day. She was enjoying the small window into a time of his life that he didn't usually talk about. Not that he shared much about his life at all, unless he was forced to.

"This must have been kind of weird for you." They were slowly making their way back, and she was more than a little drunk.

"What?" He was watching his feet, careful not to trip on the sidewalk.

"This." She wasn't usually the prying type, but she'd had a little too much to drink and gotten a glimpse into one his carefully compartmentalized memories. "Going to school here. Must have been a culture shock."

"That's the understatement of the century." He smirked, still looking at the ground.

She inclined her head. "No wonder you're so guarded." She said it quietly.

He looked at her. "For that and many other reasons. Anyway, look who's talking."

"I'm not as bad as you."

He shrugged, his white shirt reflected the street lights. His jacket was looped through his arm. He looked a little lonely, but he always did when there was no one but the two of them around. "You can't take something back once it's out." He paused. "Hand me a knife and I know what it is, hand me a flower," he glanced at her, "well, that, that takes a little more time for me to figure out what it is."

She shook her head at his version of drunken babbling. "You're very introspective tonight."

"I've been accused of being that way when I'm this drunk." He'd stopped walking.

"Was that Hemingway?" 

He stepped a little closer to her. He was taller than her when she wasn't wearing heels. "Charles Bukowski."

She smiled. "Only you would quote Charles Bukowski when you have enough booze in you to fuel a small house party."

He stepped a little closer to her. There was a pause. She felt something in her stomach burning. Somewhere, in the back of her alcohol laced brain, sobriety was screaming that if something happened, they wouldn't be able to retreat from it.

His hand was touching the inside of her wrist. She couldn't quite catch her breath.

"I think Potter may have been raping students." She'd blurted it out. She winced.

He coughed. Stepped back. 

Spell broken.

She'd intended that, wanted to inject the moment with a little reality, but now she felt a little cold.

He cleared his throat. "What makes you say that?" Resumed walking.

She took a breath, cleared her mind. "Something Bunny said. We were talking about college, and she made a joke about young girls being 'easy pickings,' and that 'boys would be boys.' I'm not sure, but I feel like she gestured toward Potter when she said it." She watched his reaction, rubbing her arms a little. 

He'd been really warm.

He shrugged, feigning disinterest. "I don't doubt it, but I don't really see what it has to do with a prostitution ring."

"It speaks to escalating behavior. It could be relevant later in court."

He shrugged, his arm reaching over so his jacket was in front of her. It took her moment to understand, but she reached out, gingerly took it from him. 

"Oh. Thank you." She slipped it on.

He shrugged, still didn't look at her. "You're shivering. It could be, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. The Feds will probably end up taking this anyway." He sounded dismissive. She let it go. 

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

____________________________________________

She was looking around the coffee shop while he ordered, noticed Bunny through the window. Waved.

She touched his arm. "Latte." Started making her way toward Bunny.

"I know." He shot it over his shoulder, irritated that she'd even thought to tell him.

"Oh hi Livvie!" Olivia winced. Nicknames. Fun.

"So nice to see you." She ratcheted up her tone, despite the early morning and her lack of caffeine. They kissed on the cheek.

"I'm so glad we ran into eachother. We need to connect when we get back to the city. Set up a meeting." Bunny hadn't let go of her arms.

"Absolutely. I'll have my assistant set it up." She made a mental note to tell Rollins when they got back. Internally laughed at the idea of Carisi's Staton Island accent attempting it. Actually bit down laughter at the image of an impatient Fin doing it. God she was hungover.

"I'm looking forward to it." Bunny preened. "Just so we're clear, is this a runway show, a photo shoot, or do you need these girls for... an event?" Bunny watched her, all innocence.

Olivia smiled. "We're actually holding a, private event for some investors, and we want to offer them a good time." She paused for emphasis. "So I'd love to book maybe twenty girls." She paused. "Young." Looked at Bunny meaningfully. "Willing."

"Ah. Of course." The other woman smiled, looked past Olivia. "And it looks like your coffee has arrived." She gave Barba a friendly smile, and he shot her a disingenuous smirk while he shoved Olivia's cup into her hand. Apparently he was too hungover to play the undercover game anymore.

Olivia looked at her cup. "Why are there two extra shots of espresso in here?"

"You're welcome." He grunted it into his own coffee.

"Jesus, Rafael, I'm going to be bouncing off the walls." Bunny slipped her mind.

He rolled his eyes. "Give me a break. Do you know how often you order a damn latte, drink half of it, and then complain because it's too weak? Then you wind up dumping half of my coffee into your cup, and I get a migraine by noon."

"That happened once."

"That happens all the time. It was cute the first five times you did it, now it's just annoying." He jerked a finger toward his own head. "And painful."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She took a sip. It tasted excellent. Damn it.

He smirked.

Bunny preened, giggled. "You two are so cute. Are you sure you've only been together a few months?"

"Yes." They barked it at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, one could argue that Barba's father's death isn't canon. Let me plead my case. He did say in Padre Sandunguero that his father had been dead 15 years. He would have been roughly 40 at that point. Ergo, 25. And being that this was mentioned before the events of The Undiscovered Country, I tend to accept that timeline as canon. Plus, this was during the Leight years, who was actually the one who created the character. As for the manner in which he died, I'll go with the events presented in the Undiscovered Country because there is no other manner of death mentioned to dispute that.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time they were home, making their way through the park midday, it had become readily apparent to Olivia that that morning's hangover had in fact been the last vestiges of the profound inebriation that she'd experienced the night before. 

Now, now she was hungover.

Her head was pounding, her body aching as she approached the area where Lucy said they would be. Rafael was still with her, slowly and very quietly making his way to his own apartment.

The side of his closed fist bounced off her arm. "See you Monday."

"Hey, would you mind coming and saying hi to him?" She grimaced. She knew they were both beat. "He's been asking about you."

He hesitated. "Yeah. Yeah, ok."

She knew he was as tired as she was, but she reasoned he was only going home to his own noisy child anyway.

"Mommy!" 

They both winced a little. Olivia shrugged it off, crouched, and caught Noah in a hug as he crashed into her. Lucy was close behind, holding his tiny jacket in her hands.

"Hi, sweet boy, I missed you. How was your sleepover at Mary's?"

"We had fun! We made sundaes-Uncle Rafa, hi! Hi!" He quickly abandoned his mother in favor of the more exciting and rare attention of another adult, slipping from her hold to crash into Rafael. She heard him groan.

"Hey, guapo." Rafael hooked his hands under the boy's elbows, lifted him until they were eye level, settled the boy in his arms. Noah's hands found his face, small fingers splayed across his jaw. 

"Baby, don't touch people's faces." Olivia called over her shoulder.

"He behave ok?" Olivia turned toward Lucy.

"Ignore her. She's a square." She heard Rafael addressing her son behind her. Smirked.

Lucy laughed. "He was excellent. Only a little sad at bedtime. Let's hope he isn't being corrupted now."

"She's a shape? Why a square?" Noah scrunched his face in confusion. Their chests were pressed together, and Noah was absentmindedly playing with the neckline of Rafael's t-shirt, tiny fingers edging into his shirt to touch his chest hair.

"Nevermind. Always listen to your mom." They bumped foreheads. "Listening to the scariest person in the room is always a safe bet." Boy and man met eyes, shared a conspiratorial smile at how terrifying they both found a displeased Olivia Benson.

"Are you staying to play with me?" His little red sneakers were happily boucing.

"Naw, sorry papi, I have to get home to Maggie."

Noah brightened. "Your baby?" His mom told him. "Can I see her?" 

Their noses were now pressed together, Noah using the tips of his fingers to play at the stubble on Rafael's chin.

Barba scrunched his mouth to the side. "Soon buddy."

Olivia looked at Lucy. "Look, would it be ok if you stayed late on Monday?" She gave her an apologetic wince. "I'm probably going to be working late, as long as I can get a hold of Amanda."

"Oh." Lucy's face registered her immediate disappointment. "Yeah. Yes. Of course."

"Oh." Lucy never said no. Olivia touched her arm. "Lucy, if you have plans, it's totally fine."

Lucy dropped her tone. "It was just a date, I'll reschedule..."

"Uncle Rafa can do it!" Noah had twisted a little in his arms so he could hear their exchange.

"Noah-" Olivia took a step toward them, a hand still on Lucy's arm.

"Oh, can I?" Barba was addressing the boy, amused at him. "Can you afford my rates?"

Noah actually considered the question. "I don't know." His little face scrunched up, considering. "Mommy? Can we-"

"Tell you what, guapo, I'll babysit you, and you babysit Maggie. Deal?" He gave in, pushed Noah's wavie hair off his face.

Noah's smile ratcheted up. "Will you pay me?"

Rafael kissed his nose. "Absolutely not, but I appreciate your business acumen."

Noah hooked his arms around Rafael's neck. "What does acumen mean?"

"Mm... means you're quick on your feet. You think fast."

"Thanks!" Noah tossed his head back. "Mom! I think fast!"

She smiled, coming over to plucked Noah out of Rafael's arms, settled him on her hip, addressed Rafael. "You don't have to." She said it low.

"Mom." It came out rough, like a warning. She ignored him.

Rafael shrugged, didn't quite meet her eye, instead dropping a hand on Noah's head. "I don't mind. And Florencia will be there, so he's in good hands." He lowered his volume further, his eyes briefly peeking at her. "Let the nanny get her swerve on." Smirked.

She chuckled, looked to make sure Lucy hadn't heard. "Ok. If you're sure."

____________________________________________

She was walking back and forth outside of the bathroom, waiting for Noah to finish up in the tub. 

A mom had a lot more time to kill once her son decided he was independent. Now she could use bathtime to think.

She dialed his number on impulse, waited two rings before he answered.

"What?" He sounded annoyed, but he always sounded a little annoyed.

"Hey." She breathed out. Waited.

"Liv?" She could hear him moving around, heard the sink running. Wondered if she was interrupting his evening. "Liv, what's up?" His tone softened. 

"I don't know." She sighed, glanced into the bathroom to watch Noah very deliberately create a wave of water so it crashed over the side of the tub and onto the floor. She tapped her knuckles on the door, threw a hand up at him. Noah gave her a sheepish smile, settled his butt back onto the tub's floor. Smiling to herself, she eased back out. 

He cleared his throat over the line. "Just say whatever's on your mind." He sounded a little tense.

She tried to find the right way to word it. "Its just, I'm completely fine with you watching Noah on Monday, and I know he's looking forward to it, I just don't want you to feel like you have to." She blew out a breath. "We can always do something else, when you don't actually have to provide childcare for me."

"Oh." She could hear him walking, heard a door open. "Yeah, no. We're good. I can't promise that Florencia won't steal him, and I haven't quite figured out how to say no to her yet, so you are running the risk of losing your son forever to an abuelita from the South Bronx, but naw, he's fine. It's not a big deal."

She smiled. "Your nanny too intimidating for you?"

"Absolutely." His tone changed, went a little goofy. "A quien miras?"

Her smile widened. "Are you talking to the baby?"

His tone shifted back to normal. "No, I'm flirting with Florencia. She likes to make me chase her."

Her laughter filled the hallway. "If you were going to put the moves on your nanny, maybe hire someone a little closer to Lucy's age, and a little further away from your mother's age."

"Florencia has experience. I like that in a woman. One sec. I'm putting you down."

The phone clicked a little as he placed it on Maggie's dresser. She heard his light groan, and the creak of Maggie's crib as he lifted the baby up. She couldn't hear specifically what he was saying, but heard the muttered Spanish, the sound of him kissing the baby. There was a shuffling noise, and she recognized the sound of a baby cuddling against an adult. Her grin went a little nostalgic, and she peeked at the little boy in the bathtub, throwing his action figures into the water. God she missed that age.

The phone moved, he'd picked it back up. She was pretty sure she could hear the consistent noise of a chair rocking.

The line crackled again. "I'm back." His tone was softer, and quiet.

"She settling in for the night?" She'd sort of forgotten why she'd called him in the first place.

"Mmhm. Giving her a bottle. Florencia just left. This bottle makes or breaks my night."

She leaned against the doorjamb. "I won't keep you then." Her tone softened in an effort not to disturb the baby.

"You're good." He pinned the phone to his shoulder. Softly muttered, "Te daré dinero para dormir," in a lighter, kinder tone. Talking to the baby.

She smiled. "Do you ever speak English to her?" 

"Hm. Now that you mention it, no, not really. And Florencia doesn't speak a word of it. Come to think of it, I'm not even entirely sure she understands English." There was a pause. "Huh. Am I a bad dad?"

She could hear the humor in his tone, but answered anyway. "I sincerely doubt that." She paused. Heard the tub draining, the maniacal laughter of a boy watching his toys swirl around the tub. It was almost time to hang up. 

"Are you sure you don't mind keeping him? It really is fine if you can't." Right. That was why she called.

He sighed. Kept his tone low. She could hear the baby finishing her bottle. "Naw. He's fine. We're good. He'll be a good distraction. I hate it when cases..." He petered out. 

"Get personal." She supplied it. She understood. Those were always the hardest. 

"Yeah." It came out like a breathe. "Night, Miss New York."

She smiled, eased the door open to find her stark naked son brushing his teeth. He shot her a thumbs up. "Goodnight Rafael."

____________________________________________

The television was in the middle of the office, and every Brooklyn ADA who was thirty or younger and all of the secretaries were watching as the newscasters spoke, photos of armed men and a terrified little boy flashing on the screen in front of them.

Rita was standing among most of the other young attorneys, all casually watching as they debated the legalities of it all.

"Welcome to the land of the free." 

"If gaining citizenship meant taking a tube ride, this country would be fucked."

"World Wars have been started over less."

She stayed mostly silent, rolling her eyes or nodding her agreement at each statement with her eyes on the screen. She glanced a little behind her, saw him leaning against his office door with his arms crossed over his chest, jaw set, nostrils a little flared. His eyebrows were drawn down, and she recognized his fury, but was shocked to see the naked pain in his eyes as he watched the television. She made her way toward him as Corey LaSpada made a joke about Elian Gonzalez setting records as the youngest extradition case the country has ever handled. She flinched when he pushed off the doorframe and left the office. 

She rolled her eyes, and looked back at the other prosecutors clustered in front of the television, debated rejoining them, and leaving him to mope on the street by himself. 

Charles Davies laughed so hard at LaSpada that he literally bent in half with the force of it.

She followed him.

He was on the curb, with one of the cigarettes that he'd claimed to quit in his fingers.

"Barba."

"Don't."

"Forgive my rather pedestrian assessment, but you seriously need to get laid."

"Because I couldn't possibly have a reaction to anything that wasn't inherently influenced by my dick. How does a catch like you stay single?" His tone was dripping with anger and sarcasm.

Despite his pride, he wasn't stupid enough to mention that he wasn't actually currently experiencing a sexual moratorium. Yelina had shown up at his door again just the night before. The wedding was days away, and he knew that once she had that ring on her finger, she would be faithful to Alex. That was how it worked for women like Yelina. The knowledge of that filled him with dread and relief, mixing together with his guilt to make a cocktail of adrenaline. He couldn't resist her when she came to him, willing to give him everything he wanted, when he knew she wanted things that he wasn't capable of giving. The adrenaline of it all had him using teeth, tongue, fingers and every ounce of his desperation to give Yelina something to miss later. He'd twisted his own agony into her, watched her clinging to his sheets, satisfying himself with the knowledge that her pleasure would eventually haunt her. He could play the long game. He knew he was losing this fight that he shouldn't even be in, but he couldn't stop himself from waging into it anyway, burning it all down. 

She would at least feel the same hollow regret that he did.

She was smirking at his petulance. Rolled her eyes when he continued to stare out into the street, cigarette forgotten in his hand.

She huffed, rolled her eyes. "Stop being dramatic-"

He whirled around, and the sadness on his face shocked her into shutting up. 

"He's a child!"

"We're prosecutors, not healers."

"They ripped him out of his home like a criminal!"

"It wasn't his home."

The air left his lungs. "Are you serious? Why don't you just go back in there and debate it with the Brat Pack?" He flicked a dismissive hand toward the door.

She tilted her head back, looked at the sky. Sometimes he could be so self-righteous.

"They were debating the legalities. We're lawyers. It's what we do."

"They were talking about a little boy!" 

"They were debating the law! It has nothing to do with people!"

He looked at her like he didn't even know her, looking peculiarly shattered, but proud. Her mind flashed back to Welcome Day at Harvard for a split second.

"It has everything to do with people." He took a long drag of his cigarette.

She tossed her hands up. "Will you stop taking everything so personally? This is why you get migraines. Sometimes the law functions exclusively from the public it serves." She slashed her palm with her other hand for emphasis.

"Law without compassion is administered without compassion." He wasn't fighting anymore.

She let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "Will you please join the rest of us on the ground occasionally? Your bleeding heart exhausts me, so I can't even imagine how tired you are."

"Fuck you. He needs someone to help him, not a bunch of lawyers debating his life." His head was starting to ache again. He took another drag from his cigarette, ignored the desire for something stronger.

She reached down, grabbed his hand. Smirked when he squeezed it once before letting it go.

"What can be done?" She shrugged. "Is someone just supposed to intervene, do something, put everything on the line to help one kid?"

"Yes." He said it so quietly she didn't hear him.

She continued. "Sometimes it's easier to get through the day when you dissociate from it a little." 

He jammed an elbow against her rib cage. She took his cigarette, took a drag from it.

"Three days."

"Hm?" She bumped his shoulder.

"My mother was in this country for three days before she went into labor with me." He tilted his head, looked at her. She felt that weird sense of shame that he sometimes elicited from her. "Three days separate me from Elian Gonzalez. I can't just dissociate. Not all of us have the same luxuries." 

She huffed. "Lord, don't I know. You don't let me forget." 

He turned toward her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She lifted her chin, kept her tone cool. "I can't help where I come from, and everything I have I've achieved on my own." She ignored the twist in her stomach, hated that her father still paid the rent on her apartment. She enjoyed a certain lifestyle, always had, and she hated that her parents would neither let her lower her standard of living, nor would they let her forget that they still kept her in that standard of living with their financial support. Some days she still felt like a wife in training. 

He didn't bring up her Central Park apartment, her schooling or her lifestyle, but it hung there, between them. 

She shook the shame off herself, ignored the ever-clawing need for independence that constantly accompanied her. Dropped both of her hands on his shoulders in comraderie and leaned in so their noses were nearly touching. "Stop getting mad, start winning. Their arguments are pathetic anyway." Gave his face a friendly slap. Knew she won when his mouth twisted in a smirk.

She hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him back toward the door of the building. "Come on, let's go make LaSpada cry with logic."

She felt satisfied when he laughed, humor edged with the dark anticipation of winning another argument as they both shoved in through the door together.

____________________________________________

Olivia tugged the covers up on Noah, settled them over his tiny body.

"Ready?" 

He smiled. "Yep."

She wiggled her fingers on his abdomen, kissed his face while he giggled. She was exhausted, and the tylenol hadn't done much to help her hangover, but it felt good to be home with her boy.

"Mommy?" He sighed, settling into his pillow. "Maggie's a girl baby right?"

"Yes." She smiled at him. "Maggie is a girl baby."

"Good." He settled onto his pillow, closed his eyes. "I'll bring her some of Jesse's princess fruit snacks." 

She smiled. "Good idea." Hesitated. "Noah? Next time check with me before you ask an adult to do something, ok? Uncle Rafa might have been busy."

His eyes popped open. She could see the slight edge they took when he didn't agree with her. "Why? I wanted to see Uncle Rafa. He wants to see me too." He said it a little fiercely.

She sighed. "I know baby, it's just-" She looked at his little determined scowl. What? Don't ask for what you want? Don't put yourself out there because you might get hurt? Don't use the adorable charm that you don't know you're using to con a man into spending time with you because that might not be fair to him? 

"You know what? You're right. Forget I said anything. It's okay." She kissed his cheek again. "Sweet dreams kiddo."

____________________________________________

She was exhausted by the time she changed, washed her face, made her way to her room, checked her emails, got into bed and put on her lotion.

She was strangely anxious about Noah and Rafael spending time together, and she couldn't quite shake it. She'd stopped herself from projecting that onto Noah, because it wasn't for him to deal with, but she couldn't let it go as easily. They'd spent time together before he left, so she knew he was comfortable with Noah, and that there would be another adult present so he wouldn't be overwhelmed by two children. She just hated the idea that he was somehow doing it because he didn't know how to say no to Noah, or that he'd been put on the spot. 

She was annoying herself with her own concern, so she forced herself to suppress the burning in her stomach, let it go. She tossed her glasses on her side table, flicked her light off. The burning wouldn't subside. She lightly slammed her back on her headboard in frustration.

"Ow." There was a tender bruised feeling, running down her spine. She reached back, her fingers lightly touching it.

And remembered. Remembered the tension between them, outside their hotel room doors.

He'd been standing so close to her, his eyes staring into hers, so when she slipped his jacket off her shoulders the movement caused their bodies to lightly touch, brushing against eachother's at various points as she shimmied the jacket off her arms. 

She remembered the air clogging her lungs. 

Remembered the coat still between them, his hand curled around hers as she clung to the jacket, pressing into her chest as he pressed her against the doorframe. Remembered the doorframe pressing into her back sharply as his other hand threaded into her hair. He was so close that she could smell him, scotch, soap and that something that was distinctly him, as he pressed his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss quickly, with rapidly building intensity that made her head swim, prompting her hand to leave the jacket, now pinned between them, to pull him in closer, her fingers scraping into his hair, meeting his warm mouth with her own. 

She remembered her heels hitting the floor, his fingers bunching into the slippery material of her dress, at her stomach, coaxing the material up. Remembered the feeling of his shirt in her hands, the burn of his chin roughly scraping over her own. Remembered the long minutes it took before her mind came back to her, her hand firmly pushing on his chest, easing him away when she abruptly needed space. Felt the frustrated push of air come out of his nose, remembered his muttered apology before he eased off her, and they parted for the night.

No. That had to be a conjecture of her own wine-fueled and amorous mind. She did remember falling into bed that night, the wine pulling her under quickly, into a dream-filled sleep that included some images that left her embarrassed in the morning. This had to have been a part of that. Just a dream, after too much wine and tension.

Her hand lightly touched her own face. She could feel the light, still-present burn from his face.

"Shit." It burst out of her, into the darkness of her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an Easter Egg phrase used at some point, that Barba actually uses in the series. I figured it was probably realistic that to maintain his boundaries from cases that he would borrow the mindset of someone else who does it so well.
> 
> Also, translations for the Spanish.
> 
> 1) A quien miras? - Who are you looking at?
> 
> 2) Te daré dinero para dormir. - I will give you money to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I dont love how this chapter turned out, which is why I didn't post it. I've been busy though, so I wasn't fixing it. I'll put it up as is, and figure a transitional chapter is acceptable. Sort of. I'm not a fan of it but it was either abandon ship or press on with what we have. Enjoy, sort of?

Work was nice, work was good. 

Work had always been Olivia's safe harbour when she wasn't so inclined to examine the finer points of her personal life.

And it had been a sincerely busy day, one that didn't allow a woman the time to overthink possible drunken encounters between herself and a colleague that she had a complicated dynamic with.

She'd actually had a good day. It was the kind of day that was filled with adrenaline, and the whole squad was imbued with an air of anticipation as they made contact with Barbara Cerone's assistant, set up a meeting, and spent the day collaborating on their approach and researching pertinent information so they could set up the necessary resources. It was an intricate operation with various possibilities, so it involved the whole squad and a team of unis that had been put together for the arrest. Once they ironed out every detail, she'd been so caught up in the momentum of it all that she'd even called him to go through everything, and was only a little relieved when Carmen told her that he was in a meeting. 

She'd tried to call. It was fine. Everything was normal.

That lie worked for her until the end of the work day.

Now she couldn't stop overanalyzing his actions from the morning they departed from the hotel up to the moment when they parted ways at the park yesterday. Now that she knew what had occured between them, it cast a shadow over every one of his actions since then. She recalled his demeanor at the hotel, which she had passed off as being a side effect of a hangover or caffeine deprivation at the time. He'd also been quiet on the train, but she could see him answering emails on his phone. But his behavior in the park fell into place a bit. He'd been especially quiet. She'd seen him go off on lengthy manic rants with nothing more than a solid migraine, three cups of coffee and a scotch in his system many times before, so the behavior was weird to say the least. And on top of that, there had been his reluctance to extend their time together when she'd asked him to say hello to Noah. He'd loosened up with her son, but she was now pretty sure he hadn't quite met her eye the whole time. 

Unless she was overanalyzing innocent behavior. 

Unless he didn't remember. Unless it hadn't happened at all.

She was fairly certain it had happened, but she couldn't conceive of actually blocking something like that out of her mind for nearly twenty-four hours, and the fact that she had made her wonder if she'd simply made the whole thing up.

Noah was uncharacteristically quiet on the walk to Barba's apartment, muttering his spelling words to himself, so she spent the thirty minute walk obsessing instead of engaging him when she would be spending his evening working.

Another thing to add to her list of things to feel guilty about. But she proceeded to overanalyze it all anyway.

The tender feeling on her back and the burn on her chin were very real and present pieces of evidence that this had actually happened. Her stomach pitched like she was in a free fall whenever she conjured the image. Or was she just remembering? The physical reaction to figments of her own imagination weren't anything new, she'd had the feeling before, with him and others. She was human. But she distinctly remembered the taste of scotch.

Shit. This had actually happened. Maybe.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, babe?" 

Jesus, they were two buildings from his apartment. She'd really spent the entire walk overthinking this. 

"How do spell, basketball?"

She sighed, compartmentalized. "Let's sound it out, kiddo."

____________________________________________

She concluded that her best response to this was to read his reaction, and then go from there. If she were interrogating a suspect, she'd play her behavior off them. And this particular subject was easy for her to read. Sometimes. 

He'd buzzed them up, so she only had to wait a moment, listening to the sounds of a laugh track on the television, and what sounded like low music, for the door to swing open. 

She wasn't quite accustomed to the contrast between him as he presented himself at work and this more casual and relaxed version of him, so the difference was still a little jarring. He was partially dressed from work, but he only wore his dress pants, his suspenders still dangling at his sides, and his white under shirt, now untucked from his pants. His jacket, tie and button up were gone. The baby was quite frankly flopped in one his arms facing outward, wearing nothing but a onesie, one of his hands wrapped casually around her chubby thigh, and he had a dinner roll in his mouth, presumably to free his hand up to open the door. 

So, he didn't appear particularly off-kilter. 

He ripped the roll out his mouth, jerked his chin at her in acknowledgement and turned his attention to her son.

"Hey, buddy. You ever seen Mary Poppins?" He always addressed Noah as though they had something important to discuss.

The little boy hopped a little, and grabbed at Rafael's dangling suspenders. She'd taken note a while ago that he always seemed to cling to a peice of Barba whenever they were together.

"Yeah! She's a babysitter like Lucy." 

Rafael crouched, absentmindedly stuffing the dinner roll into Maggie's hands. The baby grunted, promptly cramming it into her own mouth with two hands. The apple didn't fall far.

One of his index fingers looped into the belt loop of Noah's pants. He seemed to have a similar problem as the boy. "Yeah. She's a babysitter like Lucy. But this is going to be nothing like that." He raised his eyebrows, eliciting a giggle from the boy when he grinned. "Our Mary Poppins doesn't so much speak English and when we misbehave she beats us with a rolled up magazine. So, this is less Mary Poppins, more Annie, minus the red hair and the cleaning." He leaned in so their foreheads were touching. "Fair warning, kid."

Noah breathed out, glanced at the woman facing away from them on the couch. "She really does? And you just let her?" 

Rafael nodded gravely. "Oh yeah. I have no control here. Its Florencia's way or the highway." 

The woman in question was watching a tele novela and knitting something. The volume on the television was loud, and the squat and round woman laughed loudly right along with it.

Olivia watched Barba's face, open and friendly and just a little teasing while he talked to her son. He seemed engaged, and casual, like he was unbothered by her presence. Noah was stroking Maggie's soft cheek, and he was grinning at her son like she wasn't even there. He set the baby on the floor, reached over, pressing his palms firmly against her son's ears.

Looked up at her, his eyebrows drawn down. The version of him she was most familiar with. "Liv? What the fuck are you staring at?"

Jesus. "What? Sorry. Long day." She tried to laugh at herself.

He continued holding Noah's ears, despite the boy swatting at his wrists.

"Well, stop fucking staring, it's unsettling."

So he was fine.

She rolled her eyes at him, stooped and picked Maggie up off the floor where she was settled between his legs, batting the forgotten dinner roll around like it was a toy.

"He's grumpy, ignore him and his bad language." She muttered to the baby, standing while she patted her bottom. Maggie scrutinized her in a way that her father had done a thousand times, and was currently doing right now. The effect was decidedly more unsettling on an infant. 

"Why did you cover my ears? Did you say a bad word?" Now free of the barrier that was Maggie, Noah squirmed in, settled against Barba. 

Barba stood, one arm securing the boy to him so Noah's legs dangled. "Yep." He headed for the kitchen with Noah in tow.

"Which one!?" Noah sounded downright excited. 

"If I told you, it would defeat the purpose of covering your ears. Liv? You want something to drink?" 

She snapped out of it, pulling her eyes from the corny love scene playing out on the television. "What? No. No thanks." He seemed so freaking at ease. She had to be wrong. 

"baja el volumen." He barked it from the kitchen, and just like at the hotel, his whole tone shifted, like he was a different man in each area of his life.

She heard a lovely cackling laugh come from the woman on the couch. "Muérdeme." But the volume went down.

Barba telling her to turn the volume down must have alerted Florencia to her guests, because she turned in her seat, and when her eyes landed on Olivia, she let out a low noise, an "oooooh" sound that petered out into a delighted laugh. She stood, all five feet of her, made her way over to them, her hands outstretched so that when she reached Olivia her fingers were in the ends of her hair.

"Ella es muy hermosa." She cast her eyes past Olivia, addressing Rafael.

"Ella entiende español." He sounded a little urgent, like he was attempting to get the nanny to censor herself. Or did he just sound bored?

The nanny shot him an unmistakably sly look, kissed Olivia's cheek like they were already familiar with eachother and made her way into the kitchen, where Noah was sitting on the counter in front of Rafael with a juice box, legal documents haphazardly spread around him. The little boy saw her and eyed a magazine on the table with apprehension. She seemed friendly, and was wearing a bright dress, so he smiled tentatively, feeling safer with Rafael between them.

Florencia's boisterous demeanor dimmed a little, and her whole face crinkled in a sweet smile as she approached the boy. 

"Hola, Guapo." The nanny's tone was all sugar, and Noah relaxed.

Noah glanced at Rafael. 

Rafael was absentmindedly rubbing his chest. "Hello, handsome," he answered the silent question.

"Hi." The little boy shyly smiled.

"Te gustaría cenar?" She ignored the rice dish on the stove, seemingly deeming their leftovers as not good enough for the boy. Her hand landed in the Noah's hair as she spoke.

Rafael answered for him. "Si. El no hablo español."

Florencia nodded, and Olivia was delighted to see her, without an ounce of hesitation, casually grab Barba's face and kiss him on his mouth. What was more surprising was his quiet acceptance of the gesture. Florencia then made her way to Barba's briefcase on the table, pulled his wallet out of the bag, opening it to pull out a hefty pile of twenties, only to unceremoniously shove them into the side of her ample chest.

She'd been up from the couch for less than three minutes and already argued with Barba, adopted two new people, and stolen what looked like over a hundred dollars in full view of her employer.

Olivia was in love.

Florencia approached Olivia, dramatically pretended to take bites out of the happily shrieking baby in her arms and then headed for the door.

"Volveré!" She happily called it on her way out.

She offered no further explanation.

In spite of herself, Olivia smiled. He seemed completely unbothered by this. 

"So... You and the nanny, huh?" She couldn't resist picking at him, standing in his kitchen, with his hair just a little mussed from the assault she'd just witnessed.

He shrugged. "Did you think that was hyperbole? Florencia gets me." He cocked an eyebrow, and the combination of his demeanor as she knew him and what she'd just witnessed created some cognitive dissonance for her.

She stared at his eyes a little. They were usually so expressive, but they were revealing nothing other than his usual mirth and maybe a little mild horror. 

"Liv, seriously, what the fuck are you staring at?"

"Uncle Rafa! Is that the word you said earlier?" Noah gleefully kicked out his feet, speaking around his straw.

"Drink your juice in silence child, or else I'll tell Florencia to beat you when she gets back."

Noah huffed into his straw, grumbled. "I don't think you tell her what to do. I think she tells you what to do."

"What are you mumbling about? Want to repeat that?" Rafael was laughing, leaning down in a gesture that mirrored Florencia's goodbye to Maggie, making the boy squeal as he muttered threats and poked fingers into his rib cage.

Olivia abruptly turned away from the image, drowned out Rafael's playful threats and her son's manic laughter, wandered into the mess that was his livingroom with the baby. She had no idea how he functioned in the chaos, but he seemed to, despite the baby's toys littering the livingroom, the television program and what sounded like a Latin singing group quietly singing from one of his records. It looked like he worked while standing in the kitchen, and had been doing so with the baby dangling from one of his arms before she arrived. 

She felt like she handed more of herself over to him than she did with most people, and it was odd to her that there seemed to be so much about him that she wouldn't have expected, because he'd never shared it.

"You look nice." He was behind her in the livingroom now, with Noah in one arm, in a similar manner to the way he'd been holding Maggie, the boy's body rumbling with the last few chuckles from their war in the kitchen.

She abruptly turned, took an involuntary step back, her foot crashing into Florencia's knitting basket. Needles and yarn tumbled out onto the carpet.

"Jesus." He set Noah down, gave him a casual slap on his rear end to motivate him. "What the hell is up with you?" He addressed Olivia casually, settling onto the carpet. Noah moved with him, and they both gathered up the spilled items.

"Sorry." She made to help, but they were nearly done, so she stayed holding the baby. "Long day." It sounded lame even to her. 

"Thanks, Papi." Rafael ignored her, addressed Noah. He grabbed the remote, flicked the television to cartoons. "Hurry, claim the tv before Florencia gets back."

Noah clambered onto the couch as Barba stood, approached her and plucked Maggie out her arms, shooting her a look from under his eyebrows.

"I'm gonna change her. Give me details while you wait for Fin?" He was addressing her carefully, like she was a crazy person.

He headed for the baby's room without waiting for a response.

"If Florencia catches me, will she beat you with a magazine?" Noah called it from his place on the couch.

"Yes." Barba's answer was automatic, and she couldn't help her smile when the maniacal laughter cracked out of her son, and the volume crept up, as though he wanted to alert Florencia of the insubordination.

She hesitated, and then followed him into the small room just inside the hallway.

He was at the baby's dresser, flicking through the second drawer, the baby settled against him. Her tiny hand was wrapped around one of his ears, her small fingers rubbing at its contours. She looked at Olivia over his shoulders, all owl eyes and quiet appraisal. He was muttering to the baby in Spanish about pajama options.

She smoothed her hands over her stomach, pressed. Because he couldn't see her, she let a slow breath out, steadied herself. "So you still don't speak English to her?" 

He flicked a glance over his shoulder. "I keep meaning to, and then I forget." He shrugged. "My parents never spoke it at home. I picked it up eventually."

It was such a small detail, and yet it felt large because he never mentioned his parents or his childhood.

She looked around the room. It was soft, mostly white, with what looked like handmade curtains and eyelet bedding. She wondered if his mother or Florencia had a hand in the decorative choices. She spotted a rocking armchair in the corner, and realized that he must have been sitting in it the other night when they were on the phone.

He tugged a pair of pink pajamas out of the dresser, shook them in front of the baby as though asking for approval. She suppressed her smile.

"Are you just going to a meeting tonight, or is everything going down?" He was looking at the baby, but addressing her.

Right. Business.

"I'm going in with Rollins to meet with Bunny, and we're hoping we can get everything squared away tonight. She has a client database. Her assistant asked Rollins for my info. As long as Bunny incriminates herself, we could be looking at a large web of criminal activity."

He nodded, tossed the pink pajamas on the changing board, settled the baby on its surface. "Good. But if this goes down the way we're thinking, this is going to extend up. People like Bunny don't cater to the average man." He was deftly removing the baby's onesie as he spoke, Maggie happily gumming the bottom of a bottle of lotion.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "If you're going to shoot, don't miss. And call me if there's anyone high profile in the database."

She nodded. Watched him calmly change the baby. He leaned down and gave the baby three kisses on her cheek in quick succession. 

She smirked. "So you've conquered this whole dad thing, huh?"

He chuckled, still leaning down on the baby. "Well, I've always been bad at being bad at things."

"What do you call youself?" She had zero idea why she asked that.

He looked at her, puzzled.

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Just, what does Florencia call you?"

He grinned. "Dirty."

She was glad the room was dim, because she could feel her face warm. "Don't be gross. I was just curious."

He lifted the baby, skimmed his nose over her hair. "I don't know. If you haven't noticed, I'm sort of winging this." He sighed. "I suppose I'll go with dad, make her life easier. I've already gentrified her name, so what the hell? Why-"

"Mommy?" The room flooded with light as the door opened.

She turned away from Rafael, took a deep breath. "Yes, love?"

"Are you leaving soon?" His face looked so innocent.

She laughed. "Yes, sweetie. I'm getting out of your hair. I didn't put on this dress to watch cartoons." She approached Noah, picked him up. "We're just waiting on Fin."

"Oh." His hands went into her hair, fluffed it. "You look pretty." 

She smiled. "Thank you, baby."

"Are you going to wear this to Mr. Bill's wedding?"

She didn't know where he learned about that. The invitation on the fridge, perhaps. "Something like this maybe." She cuddled him, getting in her time now. 

Noah brightened. "Can I babysit Maggie when you go to that?" 

"Sure." The answer was casual, and came from behind her. He walked past her out of Maggie's nursery with the baby in tow, poking Noah's side as he passed.

"Oh- uh, yeah, I guess." She followed them to the livingroom. 

"Yay!" Noah squirmed down, headed for the kitchen. "Uncle Rafa, can I have another juice box?" 

"Yep." He sat Maggie down on the carpet, a small grunt escaping the baby as her bottom met the floor. 

Olivia smiled at her. "She's a little grumpy." She looked pointedly at him.

He peeked up at her, all humor and good will sitting in his eyes. "Yeah, well she comes by it honestly." He stood, headed for the front hall. He came back with a key, and pushed it into her palm. Finally looked her in her eyes.

"No matter how late it is, wake me up. I want to know how it goes down."

His hand was still pressing the key into hers.

"You're sure? It's going to be late."

He looked a little desperate. "I'm sure. Wake me. I... need to know who- how everything goes down."

She squeezed his hand before moving her own. "Ok."

____________________________________________

"I'm here. At nearly midnight. Because apparently this is an appropriate thing to ask your coworker to do. Where is it?"

Rafael barged into Rita's apartment, dropped his briefcase and jacket on the floor.

"I'm not sure, and technically ex coworker, as of today."

She gave an appraisal of his outfit as she followed him in. His red tie was loosened, and his sleeves rolled up, but he was still dressed in the same dark pants and checkered blue shirt she'd seen him in earlier that day.

"You seriously skipped the bar just so you could work? That was my last hurrah." She followed him into the living space.

He was scanning the floor. "Not much to celebrate from where I'm standing."

She was unbothered. "Except a six figure salary, plus bonuses, an expense account, not to mention a corner office with an actual view."

His gaze roamed out her window, scanned her view of Central Park. He met her eyes, a bland expression on his face, making his point without words.

"My own view." One that she'd earned. On her own. Just as she could now maintain her life. On her own. The freedom felt like an adrenaline rush.

He adopted a bored tone. "I hope the money helps you sleep-"

"Spare me your self-righteous speech, I can cry into my piles of money."

"Yeah, the damned can do that." His eyes were still roaming her floor. 

"Don't pout." She crossed her arms, grinned.

"Fuck off. You stole my assistant." He still wouldn't look at her.

She shrugged. "I liked your assistant better than mine." She paused, tried to catch his eye. "You'll find someone else."

He looked at her. "I liked what I had."

She inclined her head. He looked miserable. "Change is a good thing." She could make him feel better, but frankly she preferred him ruffled.

"You can-" his head snapped when he saw something flash across the floor out of the corner of his eye.

"Holy shit, there really is a mouse here."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, genius, now work on your Donald Duck impression and lure him out of here."

She shoved a shoe box into his hand.

He looked at the Jimmy Choo logo on the box, muttered, "fucking, of course," before he left the livingroom, gingerly wandering in the direction the mouse moved, toward the kitchen, leaving her in the living area.

"You know Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse are rivals, right?" He called it from her kitchen. 

She smirked. "Yeah, but there's a certain kinship among old friends. Play on his nostalgic weaknesses." She wanted to climb up onto the couch, but he'd never let her live it down if she did.

She settled for sitting on the sofa with her legs curled under her. She pulled a magazine that she never had time to read onto her lap, flipped through the pages. Winced when she heard something clatter to the kitchen floor, heard him curse.

"You ok?" 

"Great. Just wondering why this makes men feel masculine." She smiled. Heard something shuffle and him cursing again. "Why can't quoting Vonnegut or knowing all the lyrics to every Trios Los Panchos song get the testosterone flowing? I'm great at those things."

She laughed, reached for her wine glass. "And I'm great at winning and being the best." She paused, considering. "And everything else, for that matter. But hey, squeezing the balls of the patriarchy actually does make me feel extremely feminine."

He leaned against the kitchen partition, looked at her. She was sitting on the couch, with her legs curled under her, reading the magazine on her lap. Her hair was pulled off her face in a low, no nonsense ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she was wearing a perfectly white sweater that regular people wouldn't dare to pair with the red wine that was in her hand. He swallowed. Noticed the smug look on her face and gave into the tempation.

He held the closed cardboard box near her nose, smiled when she jumped, shoving his hand away from her face.

"Says the woman who called a member of the 'patriarchy' to come play exterminator." He felt a little better.

She recovered her dignity quickly, smiling as she pulled the ring out of her hair, fixing her sweater. "I was just punching your man card for you. Lord knows someone should, occasionally."

Because she was now already halfway up, she stood, followed him to the kitchen where he set the box down so he could put his shoes back on.

"Always a charmer." He dropped into a seat. "No wonder some fella hasn't snapped you up yet, made you an offer." His tone was dry, she smiled. He continued. "Is that why you didn't call the Super? Looking out for my manhood?" He glanced up again from where he was tugging on his shoes.

"He's in his seventies and it's midnight. I didn't want to wake him so he could fall all over my kitchen and hurt himself. You did that beautifully." She paused, considered. "I honestly have no idea how the damn thing got in here in the first place."

He stood, rolled his eyes, made his way toward her cabinets. "Well aren't you thoughtful. Your thoughtfulness cost me a twenty dollar cab ride." He started pulling open cabinet doors at random, shutting them when he didn't find what he was looking for.

She rolled her eyes. "Bill me, Mr. Barba." 

"I suppose the thought never occured to you to just deal with the damn mouse for a night." He muttered it as he continued his search.

She ignored him, raised an eyebrow at his antics. Then narrowed her eyes. "What did you mean?"

"About?" Another cabinet door slammed shut, he moved onto the next.

"You said, 'there really is a mouse.' Why didn't you think there was a mouse?" 

He'd swung another cabinet door open. Stilled with his hand on the door. Her smile spread. 

Caught him.

He looked over his shoulder, raised an eyebrow. "Honestly? I just assumed you wanted to have sex."

"Presumptuous." She smirked.

"How so? We've had sex before, and the mouse facade, though not a facade, seemed just dire enough to make it acceptable to call me on a Thursday at midnight after your last day with the Brooklyn DA. Although I will admit, with a little gained perspective, that using any facade for sex isn't your typical style." He tugged open a cabinet, let out a small exhalation in victory, and tugged a cereal box out of her pantry. He tilted the box toward her, brandishing the fully open bag so she could see. 

"How many times have I said this? Roll the damn bag down. Then Mickey wouldn't be so tempted and he would go shack up with Minnie where he belongs." He wasn't bothering to cover his irritation.

She smirked, shrugged. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

He shoved the cereal into her trashcan. "Yeah, adorable, except now I really did just come all the way up town to get rid of a damn mouse." His hair flopped forward as he pushed the box down. She smiled as her affection bloomed.

She stayed leaning against the wall. "Can't it be both?" 

"What?" He was moving beyond irritated. Right where she wanted him.

"I can both need you to get rid of a mouse for me, and want to have sex with you. I am large, I have multitudes."

His eyebrows raised. "Spare me your discount Whitman quotes, especially if you're going to desecrate them with your libido." His hands landed on his hips. He was thoroughly irritated.

Her smile widened, she pushed off the wall, moved in and grabbed his wrists. Tugged his hands down and held them at his sides. Came close enough so their noses were aligned. 

"Come on, stay over. Let's take some 'E' and then fuck eachother's brains out. One last hurrah, for old time's sake." Her eyes were wide, her shoulders shimmied just a little. Persuading him.

He bit his lip, tried to suppress the grin before it forced it's way up. "One last time? Are you shipping off to 'Nam?

"Hey, Mr. Barba, this is the last time you'll ever have to deal with me. Most of my clients will be in Manhattan. We may never cross paths again."

He snorted. "Please. We've said this before. But you're like a really bad case of Clamydia. I get rid of you, breathe a sigh of relief, and then right when the itching stops..."

She knew she'd already won. Leaned in so their noses were touching. She still hadn't let go of his wrists. Shivered theatrically for effect. "So romantic. You do know how to woo a girl." 

"Who said anything about romance?" He didn't move though, leaned in as well, so their noses and foreheads pressed together. "Maybe I'm just looking for free drugs. You one percenters have the best white collar shit." He didn't resist when she nipped at his lower lip. 

"Oh." He pulled his head back a little, his eyebrows raised, grinning. "You're a little drunk." He could taste the booze in her mouth.

She raised an eyebrow. "Yep. You would be as well, if you'd come out, and said goodbye to me with everyone else. Your point?" She sounded, for just a moment, like a petulant teenager.

He shrugged, a ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "No point." He jerked his chin up. "What about your Manhattan cop? Why didn't you give him a congegal call?"

She tossed her arms over his shoulders, linked her hands behind his neck. "I figured, two birds, one stone. What other chump would actually come over to get rid of my mouse and then stay over to get high and fuck me the way I like?" She tilted back a little, smiled at him. "Plus, I like to look at you. You finally grew into your clothes. And your nose."

He narrowed his eyes. Leaned in, close to her ear, whispered, "You have little wrinkles at the corners of your eyes."

"Whoo." She slid her hands up his chest. "We should get you on Christian Mingle. The ladies. They would line up." 

His fingers poked into her rib cage a little. "This is probably a bad idea."

She tilted her head, considered. "You're right. I might die of shock after I see you with actual hair on your chest, and I'd hate to keel over before that six figure salary kicks in."

He smirked. Knew he was giving in. "Mm. I might die of shock after seeing actual breasts on yours. And all before I gained self-respect. All good points- oh wait- my self-respect was never in question."

Her thumb stroked at his neck a little. "One last hurrah?"

It felt a little like there was something on his chest. He nodded. "One last hurrah."

She smiled. "So much for that self respect, Mr. Barba." She looked so delighted and so triumphant, he had that strange urge to hug her again. She gave him one hard kiss on his mouth, pulled back with finality. "Okay, you toss Mickey on the balcony, I'll get the 'E." 

He didn't know if it was the scotch he had at the office or the anticipation of some decent drugs and sex, but he grabbed her wrist before she could leave the room, and gave into that urge to hug her, roughly pulling her against him before he over thought it.

____________________________________________________________

Late wound up being even later than she'd anticipated, because Bunny had an extensive database of clients. They spent their evening and much of the night sifting through every piece of evidence they had, looking for anything incriminating.

And they'd found plenty.

Politicians, celebrities and philanthropists were among some of Barbara Cerone's clients, all of them ordering girls for events, both large and small, more private affairs. The problem was finding anything incriminating in these events, because it was unfortunately not illegal to hire models to attend parties. They spent hours tracking down girls, interviewing them until one admitted to sexual misconduct. 

She was fifteen.

It had taken another hour to leverage that information to get Barbara to agree to a deal, exchanging the promise of a lighter sentence for her cooperation. They had her in holding, but didn't book her so they had options for the next day.

He wasn't going to be happy about that.

She knew it, knew in an instinctual way that he was going to fight her on this. And she was technically supposed to get his approval before she offered deals to suspects, but she'd done this many times before, relying on his sense of pragmatism and logic to argue her case after the fact.

But they had another problem. 

They had sifted through every database, all of the documents that they could get their hands on.

Christopher Potter's name never came up. He was officially unaffiliated with the agency in any way.

That peice of information had her reluctant to go to his apartment at nearly two in the morning, despite knowing she had to collect her son. She now suspected that this might be why he'd agreed to watch Noah in the first place.

She turned the key in the lock, and it felt louder now that she was without her son, and the building was quiet. 

The television was still on low, illuminating them all on the couch together. Noah's white socks mingled with Barba's red ones, and the boy was fully asleep at his side, head pillowed on Barba's stomach. Rafael was in a half seated position, with Maggie against his chest, her head rising and falling with every breath he took. There were documents on the couch, now wrinkled from the sleeping trio.

They looked so peaceful that she didn't want to disturb them. 

She felt a little like an intruder, not knowing how to wake him without waking the children as well.

She settled for laying a hand on his shoulder, and despite the fact that she could have sworn he was sleeping deeply, his eyes popped right open, fully alert.

"Hey." She rubbed her hand a little.

He took a second to adjust, took her in, glanced at the boy at his side. "Oh. Its late." He stretched a little. 

She nodded, giving no other explanation. Waited.

He shifted carefully, easing Noah off him and onto the couch. She let her hand slide off his shouder. The baby grunted when he stood.

She reached down, pulled the couch blanket over her son.

He yawned, held the baby against him, stood watching her. His hair was sticking up.

She cleared her throat. "She should be in her crib."

He wasn't about to tell her that she almost never slept in it. "You seem tired. Busy night?"

She suddenly felt exhausted, so she nodded. "Yeah. We should talk."

He jerked his head toward the baby's door, headed in that direction. She followed. Once they were inside the nursery, she sat in the chair, curled her legs under her. She was so tired.

Instead of putting the baby in the crib, he leaned on the opposite wall, and left her in his arms.

She smiled. "She doesn't weigh so much if you put her down."

He smirked. "I get about twenty waking hours with her every week, so I'll let my arms fall asleep." He inclined his head. "How'd it all go down?"

She sighed. She knew he was going to be mad. "It's an intense operation. We... we have Babara Cerone's cooperation. In exchange for a lighter sentence."

He tensed a little. "Oh? Will she actually give us anything?"

She huffed. "Oh yeah. Almost more than we want. Rafa, I think the Feds are taking this. There were a lot of names. And I don't know what occured where yet."

He nodded. "I figured that was going to happen. Is Potter in holding?"

He said it casually, but she knew it mattered.

"That's the thing." She hesitated. "We have nothing."

There was a stillness. 

"What do you mean, you have nothing?"

He looked the way he looked sometimes, when the fight in him was bigger than his will to resist it. He stood up straight, his shoulders pulled back.

She tried for empathy and patience. "I mean, he isn't affiliated with the organization. It's all in her name. She won't give him up."

"You have nothing, she won't give him up, and you're here, and not working to find something?" There was an edge to his tone.

"I'm here," she was too tired to be understanding, "because I have to pick up my son. We'll work on her again tomorrow."

"Meanwhile that sociopath can find his way to a country without extradition laws. I mean, Liv-"

"Shh." She jerked her head toward the baby, ignored his widened eyes at being quieted. 

"Rafael?"

"What?" He tensed, all evidence of sleep missing.

"Why are you so upset?" She knew why.

"I'm not upset. I just want you to do your damn job so I can do mine."

She forgave his tone, because she knew where it came from. "Rafa?"

"Jesus, what?" Her calmness always seemed to ruffle him further when he was mad.

"Why didn't you tell me that Potter assaulted Rita?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, the "Manhattan cop" is Tucker. Easter egg!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first, thanks, cuz you guys were all so nice and encouraging, and I managed to find the fun again. And second, I added a bonus flashback scene that doesn't exactly tie into the plot, but I wrote it, so boom. It's in. It's the first scene in this chapter. I wanted to get this one out quickly because it was way easier and more fun to write, and that was because of your kindness. So thanks guys!

Barba's pen was between his fingers, rapidly bouncing off the resume that sat in front of him. His head was pounding, and the five cups of coffee he'd had weren't helping much.

Fuck Rita. Fuck ecstasy. Fuck all-nighters with too much rambling that was now sitting heavy on his conscience.

He'd been putting this off until the last minute, ignoring Rita's imminent departure, along with his assistant of over eleven years.

He'd put it off, ignored it, but it happened anyway.

He slapped a hand over his eye, rubbed it. Refocused on the pretty girl in front of him. He'd been questioning her for nearly an hour, and she'd remained composed the whole time. 

But he didn't have the time for her.

He continued to bounce the pen, shake his leg. He felt strangely unhinged.

"So." It was resounding, intimidating, and it reaked of finality. "You're accomplished, you have a four year degree and five recommendation letters." His eyebrow cocked. "Why do you want to be a secretary?"

She straightened her back. She hadn't missed his tone. "Well, I guess I could ask you the same question."

He smirked. "I don't want to be a secretary. I have a day job."

The girl smiled, a little embarrassed. In spite of himself he smiled back at her, rubbed his knuckles over his chest. She laughed at herself. "Of course. I mean, why did you want to be a lawyer? I assume for various reasons, right? Some practical, some more idealistic. I want to be a legal secretary because I think it requires a diverse set of skills and it would provide me with options."

He looked at her open face. God they were getting younger and younger. "You don't have the experience or the background." It wasn't a question.

She nodded. "I feel like my communications degree would translate well in this position. It requires a certain level of... discretion." She eyed him. "A level head."

He nodded, an eyebrow raised, glanced down at her resume again. The day was already stretching. He didn't have time for this shit. "Look- I'm sorry, what's your name again?

She shook her head a little. "Carmen." Her tone implied it wasn't the first time she'd said it.

"Right, Carmen. Sorry." He looked at her face. "How old are you anyway?" He held up a hand. "Nevermind. I shouldn't have-"

"Asked that? I know." She smiled.

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Carmen? I could wait for this interview to be over, shake your hand and tell you I'll call you on Monday, but I prefer to be more direct than that. I think it's more beneficial to you." He paused. "Is that ok?"

She heaved a sigh. "Of course."

He looked into her eyes. "You seem intelligent and accomplished, but I don't have the time to hold your hand and train you." He tossed up a hand, breathed through his nose. "I have double the workload right now and I'm going to be here all night again, and I'm already wasting time that should be spent on opening arguments for a double rape, where the only witness is a heroin addict," he slapped a file on his desk, "interviewing for a job that was filled by someone who previously did it for eleven years." He tilted his head. "My old assistant is supposed to so seamlessly train you that I would never have to know the difference between the two of you, and the only disruption that this is supposed to cause in my life is that the name that I scribble on a Christmas bonus check would be different. But she decided to follow a-" he bit back the expletive, "-another prosecutor who found another opportunity." He bobbed his head to side. His heart was racing. Fucking coffee. Fucking ecstasy. Fucking Rita.

She nodded, understood. "Right. That explains the workload." He smiled a little. "Ok. I appreciate your candor, but I'm really not that young or inexperienced."

He smirked. She couldn't have been older than twenty-one.

Carmen raised up, then sat back down. "I also think some help is better than no help, and if you don't mind my saying, you seem like you're not handling your newfound independence so well."

His eyebrows raised. "I do mind, and you're a little rude."

She smiled and scrunched the side of her nose. "And you're a little blunt. And kind of intense, bordering on mean." Her eyebrows raised. "I'm not really sure if I stumbled into a law office or Guantanamo Bay." She shrugged good naturedly.

He leaned back a little. "Excuse me?"

"You've been berating me and interrogating me for over an hour."

He smiled, leaned in. "Im a prosecutor. We're all like this. The defense attorneys are worse." Rubbed his aching chest. "Maybe this is why you're unemployed."

She sat taller, pulled her shoulders back in a way that he recognized. Pride despite having no claim to it. "Maybe. But you already said I didn't get the job. And maybe you should consider that this might be why your assistant chose to follow another prosecutor." She stood up, smiled, offered her hand.

He stood, trying not to smile and grabbed her hand, shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Barba."

He jerked his chin up. "Nice to meet you too."

He dropped back into his chair, grabbed a pen as she turned toward the door.

Carmen turned once she'd reached the door. "Oh, and Mr. Barba?" She looked at him, bouncing his pen off the desk, already impatient at the interruption. "You should really eat a granola bar or something. You've had two cups of coffee since I've been here and you're shaking. You've been talking so fast for the last hour I could barely keep up with you." She reached into her bag, pulled one out. Hesitated for a moment before she tossed it. 

He caught it. Bounced it off the desk once with a puzzled look on his face. "Thanks..."

"Carmen." She rolled her eyes. "Once you reach a manic episode like this, your mind runs too fast to focus on tactile tasks. Seriously, my grandmother was a nurse. If you actually want to get work done, eat the granola bar." 

She slipped out the door.

Fucking manic episode. He wasn't fucking manic.

He'd just looked back at his notes, dropping the granola bar on his desk, when he saw Corey LaSpada approaching his office. 

"Aw fuck." Before he could stand, he saw Carmen shift, block the door, her hand held in front of her. There was a brief exchange, and LaSpada looked frustrated. Carmen leaned, never leaving the door, and grabbed a post-it and a pen off the reception desk, scribbling on it as LaSpada spoke, clearly annoyed. He stalked off, and Carmen waited until he'd turned the corner before she reopened the door, quietly came to his desk and used her finger to secure the post-it note to its top. 

He stared at her as she smiled at him one more time, turned and started to leave the room. 

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Carmen." She turned, still in the process of weaving her scarf around her neck.

He looked back at his files, glanced at the detailed note she'd left him, hoped he wouldn't regret this. "Be here at 8 AM on Monday."

She immediately brightened. "Really?" 

God she was young.

He waved a hand. "Yeah, really."

To her credit, she contained herself, and didn't outwardly display her excitement. She pulled her jacket down a little, putting it back into place. "Well, thank you, Mr. Barba. You won't regret it." She hesitated. "I'll be here Monday, but until then, if you need anything, you give me a call."

He nodded at her. "I'm fine, but thanks."

She slipped out again, inconspicuous.

He snorted to himself. "Guantanamo Bay. Weird, but funny."

______________________________________________________

"Lieutenant?" Olivia looked up from her desk. Rita was standing in the doorway of her office.

It was usually Lieutenant when she didn't need something.

"Rita. What can I do for you?"

Rita shifted, all impatience and suppressed energy. "My client is apparently in your custody. I need to see him." Her tone wasn't necessarily unfriendly, but carried its usual sense of business. 

Not entirely unlike the man that Olivia was now pretty sure they both loved.

She planted both hands on her desk, leaning on them to stand. She was exhausted. She hadn't gotten home until the early hours of this morning, and she was running on an obscenely low amount of sleep. "Who? We're a little overrun right now."

Rita shifted, one foot angled out of Olivia's office as though she could find her way to her client on her own by sheer force of will. "Francis Jordan."

"You're joking." It flew out of Olivia's mouth before her sleep-deprived mind could stop her.

"The level of commitment it would require from me to haul myself down to your office isn't worth that poor excuse of a punch-line. Liv? My client?" Rita's eyebrows were raised, her version of patience.

Olivia felt the bubble of frustration and mild disgust that she'd come to associate with the woman in front of her, pushed past her. "Right this way counselor." She could barely hold the rage in. 

Rita followed, one eye glued to the phone in her hand. 

It felt like a week of overwhelming information, and Olivia wasn't even sure how much more she wanted to know at this point. She'd seen the look in his eye when she'd asked him. It was always harder for him to hide from her when she caught him off guard.

____________________________________________

"Rafael?" 

He shifted the baby, staring at her.

"I don't-"

She leaned forward a little in the armchair, cut off his denial. "Did you think I wouldn't understand? Really?"

He looked like he was about to deny it. His jaw was set, and he had a stubborn look in his eye. She knew his default defense mechanism was to always work against opposition, to argue. So she didn't argue. She just waited.

He deflated under her careful gaze, all signs of defense or hurt buried. "I- how'd you even know?"

She almost smiled. "You know, you ask me that question more than any other question you've ever asked me, right?" He continued to watch her, and he had a peculiarly guilty look on his face. She wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't told her, or that he was betraying Rita's confidence now. Whatever it was, she was quick to assuage it. "Little things. You mentioned that Potter dated a classmate, but you didn't identify them. You tend not to forget details, so I knew you likely remembered the student's name. Which led me to assume that you had another motivation for hiding it from me." She hoped he didn't detect the slight hurt in her tone. It wasn't her right to have his memories. She knew that.

He continued to stand in the middle of the nursery, his shoulders dipping from the rigidity of his defense to carry the brunt of his guilt. He was watching her with hurt that had had a long time to ruminate inside him.

She continued. "From there, I noticed that you two were close enough to be photographed together, so I figured you were motivated to keep quiet because I knew the student. As far as I know, Rita is the only classmate of yours we have in common."

He huffed a laugh. "Always a detective. That just proves they dated." He was still clinging to some small edge of loyalty.

"Yeah." She nodded. She was tired and sad. "But there was... you were angry. Really angry. You avoided him at the reception. You..." this was veering into more personal territory than she meant to, "you tend to avoid bigger emotions."

He was staring at her, and she knew his face well enough to register both his sadness, mixed with that indefinable guilt, and the edge of his irritation at her correct analysis of him. She tilted her head. "I wasn't sure, but I was-"

"Sure enough to entrap me into admitting it?" He said it lightly, but she knew why he looked ashamed with the guilt now.

"Did you think I wouldn't understand?" She couldn't help asking it again.

He sighed, and it came out slow, through his nose. "I'm not even entirely sure myself. She never- she never explicitly told me. I just-"

"You knew." She dug into her well of patience for him.

"Yeah, I knew." She could almost hear the thirty years of guilt in the statement. He seemed tired, and she would have made him sit if she thought he would. 

He looked at her, his mouth twisting a little in an attempt to suppress it all. "I knew before it even happened that it wasn't right. I just... I knew. I tried to stop her, but I didn't try hard enough."

"Rafael." She let him hug the baby, knowing anything more wouldn't be received well. "You were a child."

He nodded, looking at her with all the clarity that she knew constantly plagued him. "Yeah. So was she."

She nodded, her heart hurting for two children that had to try and navigate something like this before there were any resources, or any recourse available to them. She needed to take down Christopher Potter, if for no other reason than to be able to sleep without the image of a skinny boy on the steps of a school, his arm thrown around the neck of a happy and innocent girl, unharmed, out of her head.

"She deserves justice. She deserves to see his face when he's found guilty." She knew he knew this.

"I know. She deserves for it never to have happened." 

She knew nothing she said would be able to convince him that he wasn't partly responsible for that. She tried anyway.

"You know that nothing she did, nothing you did, caused him to hurt her. He made that choice all on his own. If you accept even a little of the blame, you're saying that Rita should as well." She said it gently. 

He peeked at her. Logic always got through to him best. She received the smallest of nods.

She continued. "I'm going to get him, if not for the trafficking, we'll get him on the-"

"No." He looked frantic. "You cannot involve her. Liv, please."

She really thought her heart had grown accustomed to watching men she loved love other women. Maybe it had, because the feeling of it cracking was muffled, a soft pressure. It almost felt like affection, looking at someone she loved so much, loving someone the way he did. She always knew there was so much more in there.

She did her best to remove herself. "He did it once. He's done it more than that. I promise he has." She could feel the tears in her eyes, the exhaustion. "Rafael, we have to get him."

He went to the crib, laid the baby into it. He was pinching the bridge of nose, and she knew a migraine was brewing. He looked exhausted from the effort of standing. She scooted over, pressing herself into the side of the arm of the chair. It was wide, meant for comfort. She only offered up what she she could bear for him not to take.

He huffed out another breath, came over and dropped into the chair with her. There was enough room, and their closeness allowed her to offer some of the comfort she knew was hard for him to accept. She settled between what she thought he needed and what she thought he wanted by loosely looping her arm through his.

"Did she ever give you any details, anything at all? Anything that might help?" They were speaking low, and one of Barba's legs was moving the chair a little.

He sighed. "We didn't really talk about it much. She- she didn't want to talk about it. And that's not- it's not how we-"

"You two don't like to delve into the bigger things." She supplied it.

He snorted. "No. We don't have the healthiest dynamic."

"I've noticed." And she had, she just never assumed that their was more than tolerance under their ribbing. It never occured to her that there may have been affection, or even love beneath their irritation and amusement for one another. The knowledge that there was colored everything she thought she knew about him.

"She said something. Once, about fifteen years ago. Her last day at the Brooklyn DAs." He was settling against her. "But I don't know if she meant it. Or if it was even anything, or if I even remember it correctly."

"Why wouldn't she have meant something she said?"

"She was sort of... high on ecstasy." Olivia shifted in the chair, met his eye. "Ok." He huffed. "We were both sort of high on ecstasy."

She snorted. "So you stopped that shit after Harvard, huh?" 

"Do you have to remember everything I say? It's annoying." His head tilted back, leaned on the cushion.

"Believe me, its annoying for me too. You say a lot of stuff." She yawned, squeezed his arm. "What did she say?"

"We don't have to talk about this now. You should go home, get some sleep."

"I'm fine. What did she say?" She knew if she gave him time and sleep, he would find a way to avoid this later. She needed the information, and he needed to talk about it. Sleep could wait.

"She- she was teasing me about how men play sexual bingo. You know, a particular act to go with a particular physical trait on a woman." She nodded. "I thought she was kidding." He could remember their manic laughter, high on ecstasy, long past when they should have parted ways, laying on top of the covers of her bed while they laughed so loud her neighbor rapped on the wall. "When I went along with the bit, she said there was 'no way I went to Harvard and didn't play a game of meticulously recorded sexual bingo.' And she made a-" he cleared his throat, " she made a joke about fulfilling the brunette, rough sex square." 

They both shifted a little. Let the unsaid words hang in the air. She had a gut feeling.

Her gut was rarely wrong.

"Oh."

"She said something about me having to work harder to fulfill the 'almost a decade younger than I was' square. But, she was high on E. I was high on E. I don't know."

"But you think Potter was playing some kind of a sexual game?" 

"Yeah. It's not uncommon, you know that. Elite institutions, weird societies established to harbor strange sexual proclivities. I wonder if there was some kind of records being kept somewhere."

"Probably. If she knows they exist, she may know where they are." 

"Also means there are probably more victims." His tone was heavy. She tightened her hold on his arm. 

"I think you should think about recusing yourself." She shifted a little, took in his exhausted face. "Objectivity is hard when someone... we love is involved."

He didn't deny it.

"I can't. There isn't a reason other than the truth, and I won't do that to her. If I recuse myself, I risk relinquishing control over every other aspect of the case." Always two steps ahead. She nodded, because he was right.

"I'll get him." She could feel him leaning some of his weight onto her.

"I know." 

___________________________________________

Olivia was standing outside of holding as Rita came back out of the room after conferring with her client.

"Fair warning, my client is a fairly prominent member of society, with many journalistic connections, so I'd be careful with the showboating." Rita was staring at her phone.

"Believe me, I'm familiar with Mr. Jordan and his connections." Olivia scoffed. She couldn't believe this woman's nerve. "We've met."

"Oh?" Rita glanced up from her phone. "How do you two know eachother?"

"He spent about five minutes trying to impress me while he insulted a man we both know and respect." Olivia stared her down. Rita wasn't impressed. "Looks like I won."

Rita laughed. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. He attended some gatherings. You apparently attended a gathering. I'm assuming the alumni engagement? You sure there were no fifteen year olds there? Did you check everyone's id?"

"I didn't rape any of them." Olivia wasn't impressed either. 

"Neither did my client." Rita's eye was back on her phone. "Did you use Barba to get in?" She laughed at her phone. "I'd pay to see that."

"Say my name and I appear." He was walking toward them, nodded. "Rita." Olivia wasn't sure if he'd gotten more sleep than she did, or if he was just always exhausted, but he looked completely normal. He regarded Rita with the same expression he always did. "What fresh hell brings you to our neck of the woods?" He looked around. "Which deviant is buying you for the next few hours?" He smirked.

Rita looked up from her phone, a nearly identical smirk on her face. "Your oh-so-subtle insinuation that I'm a hooker aside, I may actually be able to offer incriminating information on a Barbara Cerone. For some leniancy for my client, of course."

"Naw." He jerked a shoulder. "Don't need it. We have bigger fish. Who's your client?" He actually looked amused.

Rita sighed, long-suffering. "Francis Jordan."

"No." A gleeful smile spread across his face. "You're joking." He moved toward the window to get a glimpse. "Holy- you're not joking." He looked up. "Wait. Does anyone else hear that?"

Olivia narrowed her eyes. Rita rolled hers.

He continued. "Oh, yep. Yeah, that's just the sound of another little piece of Rita's soul floating away." He sighed. "I can hear it screaming." 

Rita was valiantly suppressing her amusement, but Olivia could see it, just a small tip in her eyebrows as she looked at him. She'd seen Rita and Rafael interact a thousand times, but now that she had new information, she could see it all clearer than before. Hermeneutics.

Rita pocketed her phone. "What information might my client have that would be interesting enough for a reasonable discussion about the charges?"

"Nothing." Olivia cut in before she even thought about it.

They both looked at her, identical puzzled expressions.

She doubled down. "The investigation is still ongoing, so there's nothing your client allegedly," she couldn't help the edge in her tone, "has that we may not find on our own."

Barba took in her anger, shifted a little to address Rita. "Jordan's a criminal, just like the rest. Unless he has anything on Christopher Potter, we aren't interested." 

He delivered it without an ounce of hesitation, and Olivia watched Rita, closely.

She didn't even flinch.

"We'll be in touch." She turned, started for the door.

Olivia followed her on impulse as Barba made his way over to Carisi's desk, where the detective was waiting impatiently with a file open. 

Rita smiled a little as she joined her in the elevator. "Driving me back to the office Lieutenant?"

Olivia bit down on her own disgust. "You know, you've done some questionable things, but don't you think this is reaching new heights of unethical?"

"Oh, its feelings time." Rita sighed, dropped her phone into her bag, but gave Olivia her attention. "Liv, he's a client, I represent those who can afford the best, Mr. Jordan can afford the best. It really is that simple." She sounded conciliatory, like she was trying to appease a idealistic child. 

"There isn't anything simple about this." Olivia knew that getting angry was the wrong way to reason with her, so she refused to. "You're representing a man who belittled a good man that we know, a man that hurts children. That doesn't bother you?" 

"Whether or not it bothers me is a personal matter. This is professional. See? Simple." Rita smiled, offered a perfect, clean shrug.

Olivia shook her head, and the disgust on her face ruffled Rita enough to defend herself. "He's a grown man, and despite what you may believe, he doesn't want or need either one of us to protect him." Rita looked ahead as the elevators doors opened. "He's made that perfectly clear." Olivia heard something that almost sounded like anger in her tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She followed her out the doors, into the lobby.

Rita rolled her eyes, impatient at the extended intrusion to her day. "Did he pick up the phone and call you after he decided it was a good idea to Kevorkian an infant? Because I don't recall him deciding that I was good enough to act as his defense." Something settled hard into Olivia's stomach. Rita was hurt. She was actually hurt that he hadn't called her to defend him during the trial. But Rita laughed, the picture of composure. "But of course you were there anyway, cleaning up his life for him so he could follow behind you with your broom, and break it all again with that bat that he can't seem to let go of. Believe me Lieutenant, separating your work from your personal life makes for easier sleep." She put a hand on Olivia's arm, dropped it off as she moved past her to leave.

Olivia felt it bloom in her chest, that desire to chase it even though she knew the fight wasn't winnable. "This man rapes children. He knows other men that rape children." 

She followed Rita out the door.

"Allegedly." Rita called it over her shoulder, irritation creeping into her tone.

"If he knows something about Christopher Potter's 'alleged' involvement in the rape of young girls, then he needs to disclose that before he can hurt someone else." 

Rita stopped walking, something in Olivia's tone making her turn. "He doesn't 'need' to do anything. Not everyone is willing to serve a higher cause at the expense of everything they have." They were staring eachother down.

They weren't talking about Francis Jordan anymore.

Olivia felt the frantic need in her stomach to catch this one, get him before he climbed onto a plane, off to a country without extradition laws.

She stepped closer. "Any detail could be the difference between keeping that animal off the street. He shouldn't get to be free."

Rita's eyes were wider than Olivia had ever seen them. She was vibrating with rage. She stepped close enough so that they were all but nose to nose. "I don't know what you've decided you know, but before you pass judgement on me and the decisions that I've made, maybe you should consider why you're so desperate to catch a man just because it would make Barba happy. Get off your high horse, and stop masquerading your unchecked feelings for him as sanctimony."

Rita turned on her heel, and left Olivia in the street.

____________________________________________

Olivia doggedly pursued any and all leads for the rest of the day, running on nothing aside from coffee, anger and the indefinable ache in her chest that she refused to label. She would hunt the bastard down, because she knew that he was guilty of more than she even knew. She'd get him pay for all of it, make sure he never tore apart another child again. 

She laid a hand on her raw stomach. She knew she'd handled Rita incorrectly. Knew she could have been more empathetic, kinder. She knew better than anyone that there was no such thing as a perfect victim, that Rita was entitled to her understanding, just as anyone else was. But there was something about the woman that had always grated at her nerves a little, and now-

She stopped herself. She wouldn't give credence to Rita's claim that she'd lost her objectivity. She wouldn't allow it.

She was just thinking about leaving when she saw the elevator doors open, saw Barba storm across the empty bullpen. His entire body was wired, he was actually vibrating with rage. 

She was so tired that she watched with a sense of detached curiosity when he pushed her office door open, the momentum causing it to crash against the wall.

"Liv, what the fuck?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah- Barba's double rape case, where the only witness is a heroin addict? Easter Egg!


	8. Chapter 8

Carmen looked up from her desk as Barba entered the office, the details of Carisi's report still ringing in his ears. His head felt like it was under water, he was so tired, and Carisi's endless theories were bouncing around in his clogged brain. The detective had boundless potential, but that potential sometimes caused Carisi's mouth to move faster than his brain, and he often found himself on the receiving end of Carisi's verbal thought process. It gave him some pretty decent avenues to explore, some solid theories, but it unfailingly also gave him a migraine.

"The DA wants to discuss the status of the Cerone case." She met his eye, grabbing the folder off her desk. "These all need signed, but the language in the plea deal is still bothering me, so I think you should review it."

She stood, handed him the folder.

He opened it, leafed through the documents. "Did you call Ms. Calhoun's office?" 

"Yes, but she wasn't in. I left a message with she-who-shall-not-be-named. She said she should be in soon."

He nodded. "She was leaving the precinct around the time I was, so try again in like a half hour?"

"Sure. I told the DA you had some free time tomorrow morning, is that ok?" She automatically put her hand under the folder, created a makeshift table when he signed a document.

He shuffled through the papers, absently nodded. "You make coffee?"

His eyes were on the folder, so Carmen felt safe to roll her own. His version of priorities.

"I did." He looked up at her. "And then I drank it all." She offered a small shrug.

"Why haven't I fired you yet?" The migraine sat clearly in his eyes.

"Because you don't know how to work your coffee machine, and you need me to order the coffee from your supplier after they banned you from their client list." She listed the reasons, well-rehearsed at this point.

He nodded. He was as familiar with their routine as she was. "Make more or pack your desk."

He walked into his office, and she trailed him, making her way over to the coffee machine. She made the coffee in silence, and because he was being prickly, poured it into a mug and brought it to him.

"Suck up." He muttered it into his cup as she walked out of his office.

"Just padding that Christmas bonus check, Mr. Barba." She offered him her best professional nod, hiding her smile, quietly shut his door. He smiled into his coffee cup so she wouldn't see, felt the quiet settle into his brain like a weight. Tried to enjoy it.

It didn't last long.

"He's in? Great." Rita didn't wait for Carmen's approval but kept walking, opened his door.

"Rita." He pressed the tips of his fingers into his eyes. "What do you need?"

There was silence, and it stretched, so he removed his hands, opened his eyes. She was towering over his desk. Making herself large. Pain darted into his eyes and he could suddenly feel tension in the back of his neck.

"I just got back to my office, where my assistant told me that you still haven't sent over the plea deal agreement. Do I seriously have to run around town like a bike messenger to get what I need from you?" The coffee machine made a noise signaling the end of the brewing process, and it shot through him like a blade. Rita would usually help herself to any free coffee he had, but she didn't move an inch. He glanced at his phone, tapped out a message.

"Get off the phone, now." God his eyes hurt.

"My mother is in her seventies and she's in the hospital, give me a second." He huffed it at his phone, expecting her odd, but welcome brand of sympathy.

"She's still going to be in the hospital in five minutes, so put the phone down." 

He looked at her, recognizing her irritation, her anger, but the migraine in his eyes blinded him to anything more. He pivoted her nastiness, instead chose to focus on the benign. "Technically if you were a bike messenger you would be rolling." He swept his hand through the air. "Wheels."

"If you expect me to find it funny that I had to waste even more of my day to your bullshit, you're going to be disappointed by this visit. Barba. The fucking plea deal." Rita flicked her hair over her shoulder.

He flinched at her volume, her language. They rarely used profanity at the office. Defensiveness crept into his tone. "Carmen found some issues with the language. I have to look it over." He knew better than to tell her to calm down, but he hoped his tone implied that she could lower her volume. 

She bristled, and even the anticipation of her fury rang in his head like a gong. The expectation of pain was almost worse than the actual shock when she opened her mouth. "You haven't even read it yet? You spent your morning circling your Daisy Buchanan while my client has been sitting with his thumb up his ass waiting on documents that should have been done two days ago?"

He stood slow, took in her demeanor. She was calculatingly cold, and rarely let him get the upper hand, especially during business transactions, but he was fairly certain with the expertise of a lifetime that in this moment if he moved wrong she was going to belt him. He measured his tone, careful to balance it between the challenge that would have inspired her to fight him, and docility that would prompt her to take the upper hand. It was a delicate balance, and one that she was usually far better at navigating. "It's been a busy morning, I'm up to my eyeballs in-"

"Stop giving me excuses, and do your job so I can do mine." She turned on her heel, went for the door.

"Rita."

He rolled his eyes when she kept going, immediately regretted it when it felt like shards of glass stabbing into his brain. "Rita." He felt ridiculous, but moved quick, slammed the door back shut with the flat of his hand before she could get it all the way open. The sound of it echoed in his brain. Her shoulders straightened at her incarceration, all rage.

"I'll look 'em over, have 'em to you by noon." He knew her well enough to know that if he didn't do something to expel her anger now, it would just brew and she would find a way to focus her rage into taking him down with it later. She was always better at managing her impulse control. He lightly stabbed three of his knuckles into her arm. "Sorry."

It was almost as though he'd pushed a button, because as soon the word was out of his mouth she turned, and there was a coldness in her eye that had him involuntarily taking a step back. "Let me be clear. And I'm going to say this once, and if I ever have to say it again, then you're going to wish I hadn't."

She stopped speaking so long that he realized he was supposed to answer her. "Ok." 

She looked at him for a minute, her cool stare boring into his baffled gaze, took a step to close the distance he'd created. "If I hear even a whisper of anything between you and I or you and anyone else," he flinched at her tone, "that isn't about a professional matter, I will make sure that there are professional consequences for it."

"Rita, what the-"

"I'm not done." She kept watching him and her eyes were edged with something like a threat. "I'm going to say this very plainly, so I'm sure that you hear me. You may be willing to sacrifice all of your ambitions and all of your plans for the ideals of Olivia Benson, but I'm not. And I will not apologize for that." He slowly started to understand, and now the threat in her eye splintered into pain. "I am not a lifeless infant laying in an incubator. I can fight you, and I will fight you."

"Ok." He couldn't risk any other words, his shame threatening to burst, and that was why she'd been so ruthless with hers. He opened his mouth to say something, the question apparent in his eyes, but nothing came out. Her desire to take him down, eliminate the threat won out over any empathy she may have had for his pain.

She leaned in until they were an inch apart. They locked eyes. "I am not some pawn that you can dust off to present to your paragon of perfection. Do it again. Take another step, I dare you."

He looked sad and baffled. "What did I do?"

She laughed at him. A quick scoff, but she enjoyed his pain. "So many things, but we'll table that for now. But if I hear my name in connection with Christopher Potter again, I promise I'll bury you." 

She left him standing there, but not before he saw her pull all of her pain and rage back into the place where no one could reach it.

____________________________________________

Olivia knew why he was mad, and that somehow made her already exhausted from a fight they hadn't even had yet.

"So, let me get this straight, just so I'm not jumping to conclusions." He was standing in her office doorway with one hand in the air, his index and middle finger connected to his thumb. "I say, 'please don't involve Rita', you agreed, and then during your very first interaction with her after you promised me, you do exactly what I asked you not to do." He was vibrating, and all pretenses of his composure from that morning were gone. He looked as exhausted as she felt. "Am I wrong, or did that happen?" 

She felt the weight of the day, all of it crushing her. "No. No, you're not wrong. I'm sorry." She felt the inexplicable urge to cry, but bit it back.

"What. The. Fuck." She was a little shocked to see his eyes swimming, but he looked as wired on caffeine, adrenaline and heartbreak as she was. "I don't even- Liv- why the fuck would you-"

"I'm sorry." She was trying to stay calm, but she couldn't take anymore today. "She knows something, and I didn't mean for her to find out that I knew, she just-"

"She was the oldest friend I still had!" His face was crumbling a little under his fury, and his pain was the only thing that could motivate her tears. One slipped out before she brushed it away.

"I'm sorry. I am. But he's going to hurt someone else, and we can't just let him keep hurting people, people like Rita, like you-"

"You do not always have to be the one who fucking fixes everything." They'd both started shouting, and his voice ratcheted up further, bouncing around the empty precinct. "I asked, I asked you not to involve her. I trusted you to hear me."

Her pain, her overwhelming sense of loss flooded her, and it tumbled out like anger. "I am the one who has to fix everything. It's my job to fix it." She would hold her principles to her because it was what she had.

"I had a VERY small list of people that I could trust implicitly." His eyes were round with his own anguish, and it only increased her own. "Somehow you've managed to take that list and rip it up in one morning." He bit his lip, and she could see all of his pain for just a second, "I know that you care, I know you want to help, but Jesus fucking Christ, why does that instinct override any sense of loyalty you have?"

She snapped. "Ok." She held her hands in front of her. "I screwed up. I was angry, and I implied something I shouldn't have, and she picked up on it. I'm sorry that she's angry with you-"

"If you think she's just angry, then you really don't understand Rita." He looked deflated.

She felt the stab of pain. She could hear it in his voice. Her endless well of patience for him became tainted by his rejection, the oh so familiar feeling of wanting someone who belonged to someone else. She let the rejection mingle with its close relative, focused on the anger, let herself react to that cleaner emotion. "No. You apparently don't think that I do. If we're throwing around accusations about breaking trust, let's address why the hell you didn't trust me enough to tell me, a lieutenant of the special victims unit, and someone who works twice as hard as everyone else around you to meet your ridiculously high standards, that your friend, or whatever the hell she is, was assaulted by a man that we're working to put in jail? Want to talk about that?" If he wanted to fight, they could fight.

The reckless look in his eye was still present, but he nodded, eerily calm under her anger. "Let's table whatever Rita is to me, because I'm not sure why you're concerned with that," he gave her pointed look, "considering you've made it very clear at every opportunity, exactly where this stops," his hand gestured between them, "and address why I didn't tell you a nearly thirty year old peice of information." He was getting into prosecutor mode, but there was something unhinged about his anger. "One," his hands flew up, "I think its seems almost redundant to point out that I DID tell you eventually, and you broke my confidence roughly five hours after the fact-"

"No." She cut him off. She'd had enough. "You didn't tell me. I had to drag it from you, like I have to practically beat anything resembling a human emotion out of you." Her outburst, her sheer anger deflated his argument where he stood, and something close to shock passed over his face. Maybe a little fear. "I am sorry, I am, but she isn't the only person I have to protect. It's my job." Her hand pushed into her chest. "No matter how I feel about this, about you or her, it's my job to catch him. Isn't that what you said? That I shouldn't have been picking my son up from your apartment at two in the goddamn morning because I hadn't 'caught him' yet?" She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "You can't seem to decide what you want Rafael, and its getting a little hard to follow."

He inclined his head, and he felt it, that reckless desire, the ever present need for control at any cost. He rubbed a hand over his chest, felt the burn of it in his sternum. "Its your job? It's your job to help? Tell me, what about sitting on MY couch with Peter fucking Stone and holding him while he cries is your fucking job? Just feeling real charitable, or did all his white perfection confuse you for a second?" He recklessly shrugged, the sarcasm and jealously leaking out like a sieve, felt it wash over him, enjoyed its ease.

She scoffed her absolute indignation. "Are you fucking serious? What, do you have spies around?" 

"Mad that people talk, or that people are interested in your cuddle session with the Ken Doll?" His voice went toneless and set his chin out, prepared for whatever hit came.

Her eyes were wide with rage. "I was with a coworker after he experienced something devastating, so you can report back to Carmen," she looked at him pointedly, "that nothing happened. I was miraculously capable of resisting a shirtless man. Who knew?" Let him ruminate in that image for a while. Fuck it.

"As compelling as it is to discuss why you were anywhere near a naked man that tried to put me in jail," he shrugged, "let's maybe focus on the fact that you always have to fix everything." He sniffed. "Does it really have anything to do with your job, or are you just going to collect every stray that comes your way and make them your temporary pet project to fulfill your own hero complex?" The insult of being on the same level with that man was eminating off him in waves.

She could stop tears of sadness, she'd always been good at that. But anger, anger always successfully beat her composure, and the sheer injustice of his accusation had her eyes filling. "It wasn't me who decided that this," she threw a hand between them, "was temporary. I wasn't the one who found any reason I could to cut and run when it got complicated. That's on you."

He looked at the floor, and his chest working as he tried to control his breathing. She couldn't see his face, so she didn't know if he was trying to control his rage or his sadness, or if he was trying to control both. "I- I killed a child." It came out so quietly she almost didn't hear him. "I killed a child and you're mad at me?"

She looked at the ceiling, sniffed to control her own tears. "You know I'm not. I will go to my grave knowing," she was fully crying now, and she was pretty sure he was too, "that you did the right thing. And I understand, I do, why you had to go. Why you had to leave. But why the hell did you have to leave me?" He still hadn't looked up. "A year and a half, Rafael, and you couldn't even pick up the damn phone? And now you're mad at me, seriously fucking mad at me because I had a few drinks with Peter Stone, meanwhile you made a baby with someone else-"

He'd been softening a little under his shame, but his head snapped up at that. "A few drinks? You were practically dating the guy!"

"I had to work with him!" They were both shaking with the need to plead their case.

He sucked in a breath. "I get it, I do, I know better than most that he was just doing his job, but seriously Liv, the man almost put me in jail and you had him coaching Noah's little league team! What the hell am I supposed to think?"

"He was miserable!" Her hand shot out, shoved her cup of pens over so she wouldn't slap him.

"And you had to fix it?" He stared her down. "I'm sorry for what he went through, but Stone is a grown man, and he's perfectly capable of making his own goddamn friends-"

"I wasn't talking about Peter." She'd gone deathly calm. 

His face dropped, and he was momentarily silent.

She nodded, let it sink in. "I get it. You aren't responsible for a little boy's heartbreak. You don't owe us anything." She felt darkly satisfied by his shame. "But we don't have people. We have cops, and retired detectives and one prosecutor who was spending more and more time with him. And he didn't understand. I couldn't make him understand. We were getting closer, you know we were, and he was a part of that. Then you did what you did, for whatever reasons that you had, and you just left. And I get it, I do. But he didn't." She sniffed, mad at herself that she'd let this slip out. "Surprise, you've been missed." The edge of sarcasm crept into her tone, her desperate attempt to balance her exposed heart.

His anger dried up, and he looked at a loss. It hurt her more than his anger ever could. "I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, I find that hard to believe." Her forgiveness had dried up a little.

He looked at her, quietly shattered. "You're mad." He wasn't asking. "You've been mad at me this whole time haven't you?"

She lifted her chin. "Yes." She wouldn't lie now. "I'm mad. I've been mad. For the record, I don't WANT to be mad at you, I just... I am."

He nodded, considering it. "I had to leave after what I did."

"You did the right thing." No amount of anger would ever stop her from trying to make him hear that. 

He looked up at her, and the fresh tears in his eyes broke her heart. "Even if I did, making the right choice doesn't make me exempt from its consequences." His mouth turned down. "Why didn't you tell me you were mad?"

She shook her head at his confusion. "Because, Rafael, despite what you think, I don't actually want to make it all harder on you. You're struggling enough." His lip quivered. She huffed. "That." She pointed at him. "Right there. That the was face I was trying to avoid."

"It's fine. I'm fine." He nodded like he meant it.

"Yeah." She tilted her aching head. "You see, I'm not sure if I believe that." She pressed her hands to her chest. Took a cleansing breath. "I am sorry. You know that?" 

His shoulders slumped under his shame. He had no where to go, she wasn't giving him anything he could fight against. "I- I'm sorry." He looked at her, and she wasn't sure whether he was apologizing for his own anger, for whatever there was between him and Rita, or for this new, undefined anger of hers that sat between them.

She offered a resigned nod. "I know you are."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, no Liv in this chapter. I have to kind of weave out of this in chunks, and I have some interactions lined up for the rest of this. Please excuse my slightly slower pace, I haven't abandoned it, I promise!

Barba walked through the immaculate halls, propelled by bravado and a stubborn refusal to accept the terms he was handed. He walked past the glass paned walls that penned the well dressed associate lawyers, headed toward the imposing glass walled office. They were high in the building, and the view of the city streets could be seen throughout the floor.

He'd only ever been here a few times, and frankly never relished a visit. Something about the open, airy space made him feel claustrophobic, an Orpheus embarking on his doomed journey to negotiate with Hades. 

He walked past the older woman sitting in front of her office, opened Rita's door.

"Mr. Barba!"

He shut the glass paned door on Rita's assistant, drowning out her protests. Rita glanced up from her desk, where she was leaning a little over the phone. 

She held up a finger, completely unruffled. "Alright, yes, the front desk is aware, you should have no problem getting up. See you soon." She hit the end button on the call. 

She looked at him, and they regarded eachother for a moment. His hands were in his pockets, and he lifted both shoulders up, dropped them. Her mouth turned up, dropped back down. "How did you get past security?" Her tone was mild.

He offered her a lowered eyebrow, like it was the stupidest question she could have possibly asked. "Security is more often than not an illusion of safety." He shrugged.

She leaned back in her chair, smirked at his ever-present instinct to circumvent authority. Freaking hoodlum. "Comforting. Did you not hear my assistant, or..?" 

"Naw, I heard Brutus, I just chose to ignore her. I thought that was a thing we did now." He said it casually, turned, his hands still in his pockets, and looked out her window. 

Despite herself, she smiled. It would endlessly satisfy her that he still harboured resentment over her poaching his assistant. She thought the woman was slow, and couldn't keep up with the shifting of technology, but she would pay her until she was cold in the ground for the sheer satisfaction of his irritation. 

It had always been her very favorite thing.

"I have an appointment heading up now, so you might want to clear out." She looked at him meaningfully. He didn't catch it. "Security actually gave him one of those fancy visitor passes. You could have had one, if you'd made an appointment." She regarded him coolly.

He continued to look out the window. "No I couldn't have." He sounded so incredulous, her smile widened. "You would have booked me out five months."

"Try five years." They smiled at each other. 

He turned toward her. "We have a problem." He waited for her to nod before he continued. "I need to put a man in jail, and if I take the avenue that's most easily available to me, it would create a problem for you." He paused. "We've been here before." He stared at her.

She nodded her understanding and her agreement. "We need to negotiate."

The side of his mouth turned up, a reaction elicited at being perfectly understood, her eyes stayed cool, but his adrenaline had always inspired a similar response in her, and her grin grew, involuntarily spreading at the promise of the game. He nodded. "Yeah. We need to negotiate."

Her glass door creaked open, and Rita's terrified assistant peaked in. "Ms. Calhoun? Your noon appointment is here."

"Thank you, Sharon." She shot him a look, and he immediately looked out the window, an innocent expression masking the dark one he directed at her assistant. Rita stood as the older thin man entered the room. "Charles." She held out a hand, trying desperately not to look at Barba, who's gaze shifted from the window to look at Charles Davies, shock and suppressed glee all over his face.

She shot him a warning, her eyebrows tilted down. He met her eyes with his own, round with joyful anticipation. She found her chest aching already with the trapped desire to laugh. Ordered herself to stay calm.

"Charles, you remember Rafael?" She gestured as the two men shook hands.

Davies coughed, and Rita's and Rafael's eyes locked for just a second. The room suddenly filled with a memory that all three of them held, but never acknowledged, their vastly different reactions to it playing across their faces.

"Barba. It's been a long time. You're well?" Davies was at once uncomfortable and hostile.

"Mmhm. Excellent." He barely squeezed it out, and Rita turned toward her desk to retrieve a file, desperate for the cover.

Barba coughed.

"I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" He still sounded like he was holding his own nose closed when he spoke. "Because I thought we had an appointment, Rita?"

Rita kept Davies solidly in her eyeline, refusing to look at Barba, knowing that if she did their precarious composure would crumble, and they would wind up embarrassing themselves. "We did. But Rafael is prosecuting both our clients, so I invited him to the meeting."

She turned toward Barba. "Charles is representing Mrs. Potter." She volleyed the implication of her words at him.

He received it, took over. "I'll be blunt Davies, we have some cheese, and if Mrs. Potter can be persuaded, she may actually be the rat that gets it. I think all three of us can walk away satisfied if you're both willing to work with me." He looked between them as though the question was directed at them both.

Rita tipped her head, considering. "I'd be willing to have a reasonable discussion, but I of course have to confer with my client about what he may have." She tilted her head toward Davies, her expression blank. "Charles, let me give you what I have so far-"

As the other two lawyers turned toward Rita's desk, Barba pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket, looked at the number on the screen. Felt a ringing in his ears, his subconscious remembering the sequence of numbers, even if his mind had forgotten. Whoever it was, they left a message. He stared at his phone for so long that his brain grew accustomed to the ringing and it stopped hurting. 

He punched his code in with dull curiosity, listened to the message. He could hear the nurse's station behind Florencia's thick voice. He closed his eyes, struck by how easily such a feeling could come back to him, even half a lifetime later. 

He'd put it off, avoided it, and it happened anyway.

When he looked back up, Rita was finishing up her explanation to Charles, one eye on him, the question in her eyes.

Barba squared his shoulders, pocketing his phone, a sitting sundial in his pocket. "Charles. We both know that Mrs. Potter is going away for a long time, I'm not even going to break a sweat on this one. But I have bigger fish to fry. Are you willing to talk plea, provided you have something of use?"

"Well," Davies dragged his consideration out, enjoying the upper-hand, "Mrs. Potter is a well respected-"

"I don't need your opening arguments, I just want to know if you're willing to plead this out." Barba looked at him, the hot sensation blooming in his chest. The man's presence just inspired the feeling in him.

Davies bristled, showcasing exactly what Barba could never stand about him. Despite what he did for a living, Charles had never respected the game. Never loved it, thrived in it. Davies had just worked in it, letting his ego get in his way rather than allowing it to make him immovable. He looked at an opponent and saw an enemy, and as a result, constantly underestimated his adversary.

"Rafael," Barba flinched at his pronunciation, Rita smiled, "I think we've all grown beyond the need for an unprofessional tone. I will negotiate, but my assistant isn't here, I don't have my dictaphone," both Rafael and Rita let a small laugh escape at the same time, and Davies chest swelled. "I'm not sure what you two find so humorous, but I don't appreciate being sandbagged, Rita. If I set a meeting with one participant, I expect one participant. I've never agreed with your methods, but this just proves that you never learned how to conduct yourself like a la-"

"Apologize." Barba was looking at the floor. He scratched the side of his nose. 

Davies scoffed, Rita watched on, her head tilted, arms crossed over her chest, leaning against her desk with an amused expression her face.

Davies stood tall. "I hardly see-"

Barba tilted his head. "Ya know, I feel like I promised to smack you in your face once." He inclined his head, looked at Rita. "Was that him?" He jerked his chin toward Rita.

Rita smiled, cool as a cucumber. "I believe it was."

"Charles," Rafael turned, his head tilted, "do you actually want to know what a twenty-five year old bitch slap feels like, or do you want to apologize?" He shrugged.

Davies's face turned red, his eyes automatically looking through Rita's windowed walls as though someone might help him. He looked at Rita, who was watching him, an amused smile on her face.

"Rafael are you threatening me?" Davies stood tall, made himself bigger. A small peice of hair moved off his bald spot.

Barba shook his head. "No. I'm not threatening you." He looked at Rita. "Am I threatening him?"

"Not to my knowledge." Rita shrugged.

Barba turned back toward Davies. "No, you see, I will actually smack you right in your smug face Davies, and then I'll smack you again, so you know what a fresh bitch slap feels like too." He shrugged, manic, while Rita desperately tried not to laugh. "Or I'll just drag you out to the parking lot, and beat some sense into you. Your client is going away for a long time. Don't be stupid. Get me information, I can get you a deal. It's as simple as that. Unless you'd like me to inform your client that I offered a deal and you sat on your ass."

Davies was red, but his memories forced him to acknowledge how serious the other man was. He never would go as far they would for the win. "I'll need-"

Rita held up a hand, cut off his grandstanding. "You'll need information from my client to leverage your client Davies. I'll talk to mine, and be in touch."

"Charles?" Barba gave him a look. "Apologize. I'm dead serious." 

Davies turned beat red. "I apologize." He looked at Rita, all suppressed anger.

Rita pursed her lips, a failed attempt to cover her smile. She nodded. "You drive safe now, Charles." The whole room filled with the tension of Rita's and Rafael's suppressed laughter.

Davies stalked out of the room, shutting the door to the sound of laughter.

"Take him to the parking lot? You hoodlum!" Rita shouted it. They were incredulously laughing at themselves, at a man that had always inspired their worst behavior.

"I'm just glad it worked. I have no idea what I would have done if he actually agreed to go." Barba's manic nature dissolved into incredulous amusement.

She shook her head. "You talk a good game, Barba."

"It's more fun to talk to him now that the statute of limitations has passed." He grinned.

"Yeah, it is." She shook her head, leaned back onto her desk. "Who called earlier?" She jerked a chin toward his phone.

"Hm? Oh." His face dimmed a little, the humor suppressed. "It was the hospital." He gave her a small smile. "My mom passed."

"Rafael, are you serious?" She stood, her smile fading. 

He waved a hand. "Yeah. But- it's fine." He returned her exasperated expression with one of his own. "Come on, we're not twenty-five, she'd been unwell for a while. I knew this was coming. It's fine." He gave her a reassuring nod. "I'm fine."

"Alright." She retreated from it, because he was letting her, and she wasn't inclined to push an emotional reaction out of anyone. "Well, I'll talk to Francis, and we'll see if he has anything that might inspire Mrs. Potter."

He nodded. "Are you ok with everything?"

She gave him a warning look. "I am. I'll be great when it's over." Her eyes left his. "I'll be ecstatic if I can pull this off." Something in her eyes darkened. She looked up to find him watching her, his expression sad.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you. I should have helped you." The last sentence slipped out. He shrugged.

"You were a child Rafael, we both were, how could we have known?" She tilted her head, all business.

"I did know." He kept his face blank.

"And I didn't listen." She looked the same.

"Still, I wish you'd told me." He leaned his body to the side so she couldn't break eye contact.

She smiled. "And admit that you were right, and I was wrong? Not on your life, Mr. Barba." They grinned at eachother.

He walked toward the door. "Rafael? You're really ok?"

He nodded slowly, looking calm, a little blank. She accepted it, because she was stretched to her emotional capacity, and couldn't offer more.

He pulled his shoulders back, his hand on the door. "We'll get him." He nodded again.

She slowly nodded, her arms still crossed over her chest. "I know."

______________________________________________________________

"This is a little dramatic, no?"

Rita inclined her head, the sun lowering behind her, looked at him sitting on the steps of her brownstone with a bottle of vodka in his hands. He looked shattered, but contained. Which in her estimation, had always been the best way to describe him.

She'd walked home from work fully knowing he would be there once she arrived. He'd always taken a minute to settle into his hurt.

She knew, in only the way one could know something when they had experienced it before, why he was sitting on her steps.

He smiled, and the tears in his eyes stayed there, too stubborn to slide down his face and too fragmented to recede. "I'm entitled." He raised the bottle to his mouth. "I'm technically an orphan."

She swallowed her pity, the desire to comfort, inadequate though she would be. He wasn't here, with her, because he wanted comfort. She was always where he'd hid from his well of feelings. 

She could do her best to let him hide for a while.

She raised her eyebrow. "It isn't even close to an understatement to pronounce you profoundly too old to be an orphan." She dropped down on the step next to him. "We're also too old for this." Took the bottle, drank. 

He turned, his elbow on his knee, putting his head in his hand so he could look at her with a loose grin. "For what?"

"Sitting on concrete, drinking from a bottle, ignoring what's actually hurting us. Take your pick." She returned a lazy smile.

"Want to go to Denny's for the blue light special instead?" He inclined an eyebrow.

She laughed, scooted a little closer to him so their arms were touching. She couldn't just leave him out there completely alone. "As if either one of us would be caught dead in a Denny's."

"Well, I'm trying to think of age appropriate activites for you." He slowly grinned. "Maybe we could read those sad little AARP pamphlets. Pick out coffins."

"I was thinking along the lines of sitting on a couch, dumping the booze into a glass." But she made no effort to move them.

He shrugged, drank from the bottle again, but didn't stop her when she looped an arm through his. "I figure, the last time this happened, I made you get drunk with me in the middle of the road. This is progress."

"So in the name of progress, should we go find a vespa to vandalize?" He barked out a laugh, and she felt something unspool in her gut. 

She kept going, egged on. "Maybe, maybe we should," she swatted at him, already laughing before she could finish the scenario, making his chuckle increase, "bust up some poor tax attorney's vespa with-" they were both wheezing now, "with one of those sad little putt putt golf clubs."

"We've become impudent-" was all Barba could choke out.

They were now laughing hard enough, with the bottle of liquor between them, so that a passing couple crossed the road.

They both lost it.

They were laughing so hard that the tears came, and they recieved a dirty look from the couple, the man putting a protective arm around the woman beside him. This only made the volume of their laughter increase, until they were practically howling. It took a while for them to settle down.

Barba took a breath, lifted the bottle again, taking a long enough drink that she winced. "I wonder if any tax attorney anywhere legitimately rides around on a vespa. I find that image profoundly satisfying."

She took the bottle from him, drank deep if only to clear some of its contents from heading toward his liver. "Europe? There's got to be one in Europe."

He smiled, glanced at her. 

She risked the smallest of strokes, her fingers brushing the back of his head. "So, maybe we've grown enough as humans to not completely drown in booze at the first sign of pain." She shrugged. "Just a thought." 

He dramatically lifted the bottle and shook it at her like she was blind. "I got the small bottle. I'm responsible."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Sort of, in the relative sense."

"I'm a father now. It comes with the territory." He downed a quarter of the bottle.

She smiled at his petulance. "Ah yes, you've procreated. There is now Barba spawn, officially anyway." She leaned back, ignoring the scrape of cement on her overpriced suit.

He snorted. "I don't know if it's good or bad for my ego that you have this strange assumption that I'm some lothario."

She shot him a look. "Don't forget, I was there. "It," she gestured obscenely toward his crotch, "likely isn't the first baby Barba running around out there."

He grinned at her, all affection and inebriation. "She."

"I mean, now that you have one of those, maybe you'll stop staring at me from that high horse, trade in your ideals for some cash so you can feed it and educate it properly." Her expression was petulance mixed with haughtiness.

His smile spread wider. "She."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course."

He pressed on. "She's a girl."

She looked at him, unwilling to give in. "Of course she's a girl, you already said that."

He desperately tried, but the grin wouldn't slip. "You referred to my child as a spawn once and an it multiple times. It's a she."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, if you're going to be sensitive about it." They both scooted a little, until they were closer, their arms loosely linked. One of his legs unconsciously went over hers, the bottom of his knee on the top of hers. They both looked out into the road. "Its not like you even bothered to show me it, so why would I care what it is?"

He bumped his forehead off hers. "You hate babies."

She bristled. "I don't... 'hate' babies. I respect their personal space." When he laughed again, she was pretty sure she'd be willing to make a complete ass out of herself in this moment to prolong his joy.

"Okay." He gave her an indulgent nod. "I was... respecting your sensitivity to my baby's sense of boundaries."

"Or you were avoiding me." She raised an eyebrow. Cutting to the chase.

He looked at her, gave her a small shake of his head. "I honestly thought you'd throw her at me. You hate anything that can't survive on its own. You've said this. It's why you don't have a dog."

She nodded a little. That sounded like her. "I don't... hate babies. Besides. I love your baby. Because she's yours." She risked petting his neck, her hand now keeping a pattern. He let her.

"I wouldn't sound so sure. She's very discerning. I'm not even sure she likes me." He was now resting his head on hers.

"Then I adore her." She felt him chuckle.

"Great. Wanna hold her?" He leaned enough to look at her, but not enough to break their contact. She took her cue. He was prickly, but because of that she'd never had to get too close. She'd grown accustomed to her cactus.

"Absolutely not." She didn't miss a beat, and felt warm with the victory of fulfilling her end of their arrangement when he laughed again. She adopted a slightly haughty tone. "But I will offer her a solemn nod from across the room that conveys my subtle but unwavering respect. And in twenty years, I'll take her out for her first drink and tell her all about the time when her father snorted so much coke I thought he was going to die, but he did the best amateur rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody I've ever heard. All six minutes."

He was fully laughing now. "You promised you'd never say a word. I recall their being pinkies involved." 

She offered the barest of shrugs. "There has to be some sort of statute of limitations on inebriated pinkie promises made between teenagers." 

"Always with the loopholes, Ms. Calhoun." He settled down, paused. "You didn't even ask me her name."

"I didn't really care, but hit me." She was rubbing circles on his back.

He shook his head. "Marguerite."

"So you named her after a cocktail."

"What an impossibly WASPY perspective, gringita. I call her Maggie."

"So you saddled her with the same problem you had? Giving her a childish nickname that she'll spend years trying to get people to stop using?"

He glanced at her. "Something like that." He smirked, dusting off the oldest feelings of affection that still survived in him. "If she doesn't like Maggie, she could always go by Rita."

She tilted her head at him, careful not to let anything slip out of the backs of her eyes. "My god. You are such a woman sometimes." 

He snorted. "I'm hoping some of it will rub off on you some day."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Well, then we were really thorough about all the rubbing." Kept going when she saw him fighting a grin. "Ya know? We took the really dedicated approach."

He laughed in a way she was sure she hadn't heard from him in over twenty years.

Her smile turned a little sad. "You sure that her name wasn't inspired by anything other than yours truly? And of course a lovely, if not slightly over themed, salt rimmed cocktail?" When that stubborn set implanted itself into his jaw, her mouth turned up a little. So easy to ruffle. "I defended her, remember? You asked me to. I know her middle name. You never did buy me that drink for doing that by the way."

He shrugged, decided not to deny it. "Bill me, Ms. Calhoun." He glanced at her. "I didn't know what to give her, so I tried to remind myself to make her strong." The one trait that he knew both Rita and Olivia shared. 

She smiled, wrapped her arm a little tighter around his. It always took a minute to warm him up. "Rafi?"

"Don't call me that."

She smiled. So easy. "Mr. Barba." She added a little flair to the syllables.

"Hm?"

"I'm glad your pullout game finally failed you."

He snorted. "You're disgusting. You like watching the endless hilarity of me screwing up an innocent baby that never asked for me?" He paused. "I'm fucking it all up."

She nodded, considered. "Probably. You love her?"

He heaved a breath. "Not at first." He could always acknowledge the darker sides of himself here. Where they illuminated their shame, took it out and calmly examined it together. "I wanted to give her back. But I... kept her... because of-"

"Drew?" She could feel him nod.

She laughed, and the dark noise was so out of place that he joined her. "God you're fucked up, you know that? Keeping a baby as some weird penance because you ended another one's life. I mean, really, Rafael? That's seriously fucked." She tilted back, giving him the only therapy he'd ever accepted.

He was laughing a little into his hand. "I don't know. It sounds bad now."

"I have no idea what you base your logic in. Keeping babies as penance for something that I would never have thought even you would be crazy enough to do. And here I am, perfectly capable of giving you an excellent defense for it, and you go with Dworkin. And they say you're smart." She snorted.

He heard it though, under the light layer of humor. Looked at her, careful to make sure she understood. "I couldn't ask you to do something like that. Ever."

She kept her tone light. "Couldn't or wouldn't?" They both knew the truth lay somewhere in the middle. She shrugged, put it back away. "I suppose it all comes out in the wash. I get to sleep through the night while you get spit up on." She smirked. "Justice."

He turned so she could see his eyes. She almost always hated when he did that. It hurt. "I love her. I didn't mean to- I just- fell in love with her. I think I should have given her away." His eyes looked hollow, and he shrugged to combat his own pain.

She swallowed her sympathy again. She wanted to explain to him that his love wasn't something to be protected from, but knew he didn't want it, wouldn't hear it, at least not the way she could manage to say it. "Maybe. But you have her now. And maybe you are fucking it up. Fix it."

The tears came back. "How?"

"I think if you stopped lying to yourself, that'd be a start." She took a long and tired breath. "You think your child needs something that you aren't giving her? Then find her someone who will." Now they were both refusing to cry.

She let it hang there. Rested her chin on his shoulder so she wouldn't have to look at his eyes anymore.

"Rafael?"

"Yeah?" She ignored the uneven breathing she heard from him, knew she was ignoring it for them both. "love you."

He snorted. "Shut up, no you don't."

She smiled, tightened her hold. "You're right, what was I thinking?"


	10. Chapter 10

"There you are." Olivia walked up the hill cautiously, stood next to him. He was standing in the grass, hunched a little from the cold.

He was right where she thought he would be, small headstones dotted around him, his hands tucked into his coat.

"Hey." He spared her a glance, seemingly unfazed by her presence. 

She tilted her head, tried to catch his eyes. "You should be home, where it's warm. The service ended hours ago." She had watched him the whole time, and he'd remained stoic, unyielding. He shook hands, exchanged platitudes. She'd even overheard a particularly insensitive defense attorney discussing a case with him, when his mother wasn't even yet in the ground. And though her protective instincts had kicked in, he seemed so unbothered by the discussion that she felt as though interrupting it would upset him more. In fact, he almost seemed to avoid her throughout the service, becoming noticeably tense when she came near him.

She bundled her own hands into her jacket. Tried to look at him. He raised his eyebrows to indicate he'd heard her, but otherwise didn't respond. She suddenly felt inexplicably nervous, and realized that they hadn't spoken after their fight. She'd meant to seek him out, if only to resolve things, but she kept putting it off, and she was only now realizing that she'd done so because she was afraid of what he might say. Of what she might say. And then this happened, and now it felt like there was an insurmountable wall between them.

His eyes weren't focusing, and she could see the tears shimmering over them. They seemed to increase the longer they stood together. He swallowed, and briefly looked at her. "Potter committed suicide right after his arrest." 

He continued to stare at the ground, looking more broken up about that than his own reality. He looked up again, into her eyes. "Where is the justice in that?" 

He didn't think he'd ever get the look of resignation on Rita's face out of his head when they'd heard, standing at the courthouse waiting on Judge Barth to open her chambers when the alert came in over their phones. She'd looked unfazed. Like it was the way she always expected it to happen. The expression on her face was what sometimes made his whole career feel pointless. Made everything feel pointless. Which only led him to wonder if that feeling was exactly why Rita was a defense attorney. He would never know how she truly felt about it. About anything really.

Olivia was watching every emotion flicker over his face, and empathized, because she felt them all too. 

"There isn't." The bastard got to go out before his public trial, like a coward in his cell. She found it unfathomable. The injustice, all because one man couldn't stand up, face the sun. She turned toward him. 

"How's Rita handling this?" She was hesitant to ask, because she felt like the woman was now standing between them with the wind. But she had to ask, had to know.

He looked a little hopeless. "Your guess is as good as mine." She dropped it.

Olivia looked at the ground, noticed the headstone sitting just to the right of the fresh dirt, where his mother had been laid to rest that morning.

"Is that your father?" It occured to her that right up until this moment, she hadn't known that his father's name was Roberto. 

Almost as though she'd flipped a switch, his eyes filled again. He sniffed, and she noticed that the tips of his ears were red. She started calculating how long he'd been standing out here. He nodded. "Mmhm. I figured she'd want to be near him."

She didn't want to ask if he didn't want to talk about it, but she'd come to realize over the years that what he wanted and what he needed were often diametrically opposed, so she decided to push forward. "They were divorced, weren't they." She didn't phrase it as a question, leaving it to him whether or not he wanted to address it.

He looked at her suddenly, flinching when she stared back, her own eyes full of sympathy. He looked back down. "She really, really loved him." He jerked his chin toward the dirty headstone, his voice thick.

She nodded. "It can take a lifetime to disentangle from abuse."

"No." He looked at her, his tears sliding down a little. "She really loved him. And he really loved her. She... she couldn't even bear to see him dying when he went." She imagined the solitude of that, him sitting there, watching a parent die, alone, at such a young age. Knew intimately what it felt like.

"That's not love." Ever the sympathetic cryer, her own tears boiled over at the sight of his.

"It was for them." He stared back at her tear-filled eyes, smiled. He shrugged, looking a little desperate. "I could never forgive her, for what she did to me. I never fully forgave her for staying, for letting him tear her apart. For loving him anyway. Leaving him, only after it was all over, after he did what he did, after I had to rescue myself. I felt like everything I did disappointed him, but she disappointed me." He took a shuddering breath. 

He glanced at her. "I didn't learn until much later that she stayed with him for me." He shook his head, his voice thickening. "That sometimes, there are no good choices. That you get into a situation, and there are only varying degrees of pain. That she could have left, sure, but where would we go? How would we survive, especially when she didn't think that she had it in her. He made sure of that."

She didn't say anything, just continued to watch him. He continued. "Sometimes, you just have to pick your pain, or it'll just pick you. I learned that the hard way. With him." 

He jerked his chin toward the headstone. "Six weeks of sitting with him, night after night, while she claimed she didn't want to look at him, but we both knew she couldn't look at him. Couldn't see him like that. Six weeks of knowing that I had to kill him, of trying to find a logical way out of it. I didn't understand yet." 

He turned to at look at her, and she was briefly transported back to a cold February day on the courthouse steps. "I didn't understand that sometimes there is no way out of the pain." His mouth turned up a little. "I learned. Knew that when I walked into that baby's room, saw him, that I wasn't walking out of that room unscathed. That I had only a choice between what source of pain I could bear to live with. I could turn away, leave him there. But he would die anyway. And it would only prolong his suffering, prolong my own, because I would know, know that I just left him there. Or I could stand up. Face the sun. Do what I never did for my father. Take the pain on the chin, full on, instead of letting it eat away at me from the inside out, slowly." His face crumpled for a second, and he looked at the sky for control. "I couldn't do another twenty-five years of regrets, Liv. So I killed that baby. I can barely stand to live with it, but I know, without a doubt, that I couldn't have lived with my other option. But it doesn't mean I can live with this one well." 

They were both crying now, and it hurt, hurt her deeply, but it felt somehow freeing now that she understood. Understood the why of it all. What had plagued him when he'd made his choice. She now understood a little, why he'd turned to no one after he made it. Because he would stand up, face what he'd done, and wouldn't ask those he loved to do it for him. She understood that, and felt she now understood him better because of it.

"She always used to tell me how alike we were." He continued to watch the ground, and she let him do so if that would help him speak. "I never understood what she thought I had in common with an angry, pathologically charming and insecure man." He smiled, one grim line raised up on the side of his mouth. He glanced at her, his gaze flicking down her endlessly compassionate face. "But I see it now. I finally understand what she meant. He was... I was so scared of him. But he was my whole world, he made himself so much larger than he felt. And he was her world too. The sun set and rose over him. When Papi was happy, the whole house was happy. And God, Liv, he loved her as much as he hurt her. So much that I think she couldn't tell the difference between the two. I know I couldn't." Something like guilt passed over his face as he looked at her.

"You're not like that." She couldn't say much else, because she was trying to control the weight that had inserted itself into her chest, threatening to boil up and over. She didn't know if they were capable of climbing over the barrier that was between them, but she would never stop trying to make him understand that what he saw in himself and what she saw in him were very different from the other.

He grinned at her, his head tilted, and he leaned, just enough so that the side of his shoulder bumped off the front of hers. "I beg to differ. Maybe I lack his penchance for physical violence, atleast sometimes, but he and I? We aren't so different. Angry, volatile, impatient and alone. He was right about me." He smiled at the faded headstone like he was impressed.

Her face registered indignation at his diminishing summation of himself. "What about good? Can't you be those things and good as well? And doesn't that goodness shape every one of those other traits?"

She shook his shoulder a little to get his attention. He smiled at her, searched her eyes for a second, took in her red nose and ears before he looked back down at the ground. 

"Come on. Its cold." He glanced at her, turned toward the road so she would follow. 

She was just grateful to get him to move toward home, so she would overlook the fact that he was only leaving because she was cold. 

She watched the ground as they carefully made their way toward the gates. "You didn't tell me she was sick."

"I didn't want her to be." He gave her an ironic look, but she could hear the suppressed grief. "So I put it off." Huffed. "Old habits."

Her hand fluttered a little over his back. "You know, we used to confide in eachother. Or atleast I thought we did. You can still do that, you know?" She tried to catch his eye. "Tell me stuff. Even if you don't know the answer."

He peeked up from under his eyebrows. "What got said in your office..."

"Yeah." They both kept marching, their heads down, protecting themselves from the cold.

He addressed his feet. "I feel like it got away from us, I said some things I didn't mean." He glanced up, into her eyes. "What I said about Stone. Way out of line."

Her stomach was on edge, chasing this conversation that felt like it was getting away from her. "He and I-"

"Liv." They stopped walking. "I should never have asked you about that." His eyes registered his apology.

She wanted to protest, but didn't know what about. Panic skittered into her stomach. "He didn't-"

"He didn't do anything wrong, and neither did you." He reached his hand out, tapped her elbow. Resumed walking.

She was silent for a moment. "I did spend an inordinate amount of time with him." She said it quietly.

He tensed a little, worked to reign it in. "It isn't my-"

"Rafael? Shut up and let me explain." She said it quietly. He didn't respond, and she took that as his consent. "I did... push myself with him. And I've been thinking about that. I wondered if I was punishing you a little. Because I missed you. But I don't think it was that. I think, well, I think that man populated my nightmares for a while, and I hated him." It came out like a low whisper. 

He glanced at her. "You don't have to hate him." The side of his hand tapped into hers.

She smiled. "I know. And I felt bad about it. I knew it wasn't anything he did, but I couldn't help-" she looked at him, swallowed her tears. "You were gone, and I didn't know if you were okay. And he did that." She cut off his protest. "And my brain knows that he didn't, but my heart..." She shrugged. Took another breath. "And then things became, sort of, uncomfortable." She looked at the ground again.

His eyebrows sharpened, dipped downward. "What do you mean?"

She heaved a breath, glanced at him. "Its hard to explain to a man. It was never anything he did, at least not specifically. There's just, well, there's a feeling that women get, when a man develops feelings for her. An awareness." She looked at him, staring at the ground with red ears, tears sitting in his green eyes. Smiled. "But when a man gets feelings for you, and you don't return them, everything feels... uncomfortable. Everything he did was colored by it. I felt, like I was somehow doing something wrong, something to cause him to-" she looked at him, staring at the ground, a peice of his hair fallen out of place. Flexed her fingers. "I didn't want him." He glanced up, briefly met her eyes before looking back down.

He cleared his throat. "I didn't know he had feelings for you." He sounded toneless.

She nodded. "I kept pushing myself to like him, feeling guilty that I didn't like him because of you, feeling guilty that his feelings for me were making me uncomfortable. I don't know. I guess I just tried too hard-"

"To fix it?" He grinned at her, looked back at the ground. "Yeah. You've been known to do that." They both smiled.

They kept walking, so she felt enveloped, safe to continue revealing little pieces of herself to the wind. "I think I suggested he coach Noah's-"

"Because I'm an asshole who can't send a birthday card?" He gave her an ironic eyebrow raise.

Despite everything, she smiled. "I don't know, actually. I think I thought giving him this one thing might establish some boundaries, give him this definable role. I don't know what I was thinking. It only made his hero complex increase. Poor single mother, with the fatherless child." It came out a little bitterly. 

"Don't say that." They kept their pace up, but he watched her until she looked back at him. "One priveliged guy thinking he's doing you a favor, does not an inadequate childhood make. That kid is happy, confident and loved. Weren't we just talking about the perils of being with the wrong man and what it can do to a child?" He tilted his eyebrows, an edge of humor coming into his eyes. And like that, the tension that had just knotted in her stomach unspooled a little. He'd always had a way of reminding her about the things that she logically knew, but her heart sometimes forgot. 

He broke their gaze first. "He means something to me." He said it quietly, let the wind take it away. It seemed easier to just let it go. "I'm sorry."

She skimmed her hand down his arm. "I know what you were dealing with. I know you, remember? You're too good to intentionally hurt. He just missed you."

He nodded. "I'll find a way to make it up to him."

She tugged on the elbow of his jacket. "You already did. He doesn't need anything aside from you. Hate to break it to you, but you leave an impression."

He snorted. "His little brain is just too small to understand that that isn't a good thing yet."

Her hand stayed near his elbow, a subconscious gesture to guide him. "I think he's pretty smart."

He smiled to himself. "Me too."

He cleared his throat. "If you're still okay with it, I want to see him when you go to Dodds's wedding." He peeked at her, hesitant, as though she would ever deny him.

"Of course. It's all he talks about." She smiled. "It's funny, because it doesn't sound like the two of you did anything special, but he makes it seem like you fed him endless ice cream, while at Disney World, with his best friends."

He smiled. "We just waited until Florencia fell asleep and then tried to throw rolled up socks into her lap. He's now sufficiently terrified of her."

"Why is it that whenever I leave you alone with him for five minutes, you've turned my son into a hoodlum?" She scrunched her eyebrows.

He smiled. "Guess its just in my nature. And his. Watch out."

She smiled. "Yeah, he may wind up getting a full scholarship to an elite university and then just end up putting that degree and everything he has into making a difference. Even at the expense of himself. Parish the thought."

He didn't respond, just shook his head. "I'm sorry Liv."

"There isn't anything to be sorry for. Just be here. And maybe stop sacrificing yourself so much. It worries me." They stopped outside her car, and she looked at him. He looked as cold as she felt, and tired in a way that rest would not fix. Ever the sympathetic cryer, her eyes filled again. He laughed at her, a small singular noise coming out of his mouth.

She smiled at herself, laughing at her own tears. Leaned toward him, watched him instinctively move backward.

"Humor me, okay?" She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he tensed for a moment, then relaxed. She felt the shudder of unshed tears deep in his chest, and she hugged him tighter. Knew that she would stay there, like that, as long as he would let her.

His chin was resting heavily on her shoulders, his arms wrapped around her. "I don't think I'm okay."

She hugged him a little tighter. "You're not. But I'm here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potter was inspired by Epstein, so I couldn't bring myself to pretend that victims actually got justice when I know that all too often, that is a fantasy. It would have been too demoralizing to write.


	11. Chapter 11

Olivia walked along the unfamiliar street, heading toward the reception venue along with the person that always mutually relied on her to survive these affairs together. It didn't make their solitude anymore enjoyable, but it was easier to be alone when someone was there to do it with you.

Rollins huffed as they moved over the concrete, adjusted her dress again. "It feels like a strange punishment to have to see people from work," she glanced at Olivia, "present company excluded of course, on one of my rare weekend nights off. In heels, no less."

Olivia smiled even as she picked up her pace. They were late, having prolonged their inevitable departure from the bar where they met for pre-reception drinks. "I should argue with you, and put a positive spin on this. But yeah."

Rollins glanced at her boss. There was a negativity, maybe a sadness lurking under there. But Liv wasn't sharing, and she wouldn't pry. "Two drinks, and then we're out." She bobbed her head once, emphasizing her declaration with a smile. She clapped a hand on her boss's arm, hoping to inspire a smile.

"Marking time by the amount of alcohol you'll be drinking really puts a positive spin on things." But even as she said it, they were both smiling. They turned the corner, saw partygoers on the concrete outside the venue, socializing, smoking, some with glasses of wine in their hands. They pushed through, made their way to the bar.

____________________________________________

Their conversation at the cemetery settled on Olivia like a weight, resolving the turmoil of the last few weeks, and addressing the anger that was between them. But she found herself becoming increasingly depressed by it. By the finality of their newly evolved dynamic with eachother.

They were friends. They'd gotten angry, and she almost, almost felt like in his anger, he'd said some things that revealed more, but now they had made peace, and it was back to normal.

Except it wasn't.

When he opened the door to greet Noah she could see the change in him, of course, but they were also different, both unsure of eachother in a way that she had never felt around him. He seemed exposed, and a little vulnerable, his grief sitting on him heavily. But there was also a small sense of peace about his tired face that she hadn't ever seen before, and she hoped that their conversation had something to do with it.

"Is she here?" Noah was currently in Rafael's arms, his legs carelessly dangling. Rafael turned to check, as though he didn't already know, rubbing his chin against the boy's until Noah squealed at the burn of his stubble.

"Mm.. I see no psychopathic nannies. I think we're in the clear. The tv went out a while ago, and Florencia's solely in this for the surround sound." Barba moved into the livingroom, one arm pinning Noah to him, the other dangling at his side. "But I do see a mini psychopath." He smiled down at the baby, sitting on the floor with her toys around her, eyeing the boy in her father's arm. "Hey gruñona. I brought you a snack." He set Noah on the floor, and the boy immediately crouched down, putting his face next to the baby's. 

"Hi Maggie. Remember me? I'm your babysitter, Noah." Olivia smiled, and Rafael looked up, a smile on his own face. They looked at eachother for a second before he looked back at the kids.

Rafael used his foot to boot Noah's behind. "Make sure she doesn't climb out a window." He turned, jerked his chin at Olivia. "Drink before you go?"

"Sure." She shrugged. "But one. You don't have back up."

He walked into his kitchen. "Florencia's husband is retiring. They're having a party."

"Oh. Did you want to be there?" 

He turned, and his exhaustion sat in his eyes plainly, but he smiled at her, laughing at the thought. "Spending an entire evening with 60 Cubans. No thanks. I did that last week." He turned to dump some wine in a glass. 

She brought her hand up, almost touched his back, then thought better of it. He seemed like he was precariously holding onto control as it was. She accepted her wine glass from him. "How are you holding up?" He looked like he hadn't shaved in days. She rubbed her own chin.

He shrugged. "It feels worse, but I think that's probably a decent sign. I don't know." 

She gestured toward the wine when he didn't pour himself a glass. He shook his head. "I'm avoiding alcohol for now. Drinking until you can't walk really isn't okay at our age." He smiled at her, leaned against the counter. 

"You shouldn't be drinking alone." She leaned against the wall, a safe distance from him. 

He looked at the floor. "I wasn't alone."

"Oh. Good." She stared into her wine glass. He'd been with her. She could feel it. And the jealousy ripped through her so intensely that it shocked her. She hadn't felt feelings of jealousy this intense in many years, since she was much younger and angrier.

He rolled his shoulders a little, and she may have been imagining it, but he seemed uncomfortable. She searched for something to say. "I don't see you for a few days, and you're sporting almost a full beard. You look like a castaway."

He chuckled, ran his hand over his chin. "Yeah. Blame my Cuban roots. I swear, I practically have to shave morning and night to keep it away. By the end of the day there's usually something on my damn chin."

Her stomach felt warm, and she rubbed her own face, her mind traitorously wandering. Abruptly, she put her glass down, smoothed her dress. His eyes followed her hands before he looked away again. 

She forced a smile. "I should get going. I'll be late, and Amanda's waiting." She had to leave before she said or did something stupid. She promised herself a long time ago that she wouldn't ever put herself in a position to be a man's second choice again. Old habits though.

He smirked, never fully looking at her. "Keep an eye on her. It's an open bar." 

She would resist, had to resist temptation, but her hand was apparently working against her, because she reached out, and it landed just at the side of face, covering his ear and the back of jaw. He immediately tensed, but stared at her like he was waiting for something. She pulled her hand away, but the traitor slid down his neck before it dropped off him. He shuddered a little but didn't otherwise respond.

She sighed, let the melancholy in. "Take it easy. Don't let him talk you into anything crazy. Rest."

He smirked. "I'm sure he'll decide we're not resting."

She couldn't help the smile at his resignation . "You know, you could just tell him no." Her smile widened at his incredulous expression. He was always surprisingly bad at rejecting her son. She would never have guessed that he would be a pushover.

Her smile slipped, and she turned away from him toward Noah so he wouldn't see. It was becoming nearly unbearable to look at him.

"I'm leaving kiddo. I love you." Noah gave her a hug, and then she left the three of them in the livingroom, and closed the door to the sounds of Maggie's laughter. 

____________________________________________

The affair was as enjoyable as anything that so closely resembled a work event could be, and they spent the evening chatting with coworkers. Carisi showed up roughly a half an hour after they arrived, and the detective brought the fun that always seemed to cling to him. After Amanda's fourth drink, and Olivia's third, their small group was louder and a little happier. And even in her slightly foul mood, Olivia couldn't help but appreciate the sight of an obviously happy Chief Dodds, standing with his new wife among a large group of people. It gave her some small measure of hope to watch him finding some happiness after all of the pain that he'd endured. 

Carisi was in the middle of telling them a story about Fin getting trapped in a dumpster, Rollins loudly laughing at the sergeant who wasn't there to defend himself, when Olivia saw her, walking toward the door with a glass of wine in her hand, wearing an expensive dress and heels so high they made Olivia's feet hurt just looking at them.

She took a breath, excused herself from their small group and picked up her wine glass off the table before she followed her. There was something she had to do.

By the time she found Rita standing out on the sidewalk, a little away from the few clusters of people enjoying the night air, Rita had already lit a cigarette, her other hand still wrapped around her wine glass.

Olivia approached carefully. Rita turned, caught sight of her. "Oh. Hello, Liv." Her eyes flicked down Olivia's body. "That's a nice dress."

"Oh." She skimmed her hands down the dark fabric of her dress, thrown off by Rita's casual tone. "Um. Thank you." She recovered quickly. "I'd say the same, but you're always so put together."

Rita smirked just a little into her wine glass. She knew how to win against any opponent, in any interaction. Always do what they aren't anticipating. "You have a certain, disheveled Wonder Woman appeal. The sweat and grime of the chase suits you." She smiled, took a drag from the cigarette.

Thrown off further by the compliment, such as it was, and Rita's almost friendly nature, Olivia briefly forgot why she'd joined her. She searched for something to say in order to right herself. "I didn't know that you smoked." 

Rita regarded her with a cool stare. "Well Liv, you and I don't actually know eachother all that well."

Olivia nodded, took in the other woman's words. "No, we don't." She took a sip of her own wine, and they stood for a moment in silence. 

"Surprised you actually came. Dodds is kind of a prick." Rita said it casually, her gaze averted back toward the road.

"Just because I dont like him doesn't mean I'm not rooting for him." Olivia shrugged.

Rita smiled to herself, shaking her head. "Paragon of perfection."

"What?" Olivia hadn't quite heard her.

She breathed her amusement out through her nose. "Nothing."

Olivia decided not to push the matter. "I didn't know you and Dodds knew eachother well." 

Rita shook her head. "Not Dodds. I worked with Anna at the Brooklyn DAs a lifetime ago. She's a damn good prosecutor."

"Ah." That tenuous connection, the bridge to the person that linked them, hung there. "He didn't mention that." They both knew which he Olivia was talking about.

Rita smirked. "I wouldn't expect him to. They hated eachother. But then again, he hated almost everyone there."

They both lightly snorted, mirroring eachother's amusement at the contrary nature of a man they both knew so well.

"Speaking of which," Rita was looking past her, and put a hand on Olivia's arm, angled around her to address the couple approaching the doors. "Charles, Christa." She called it, as the couple was roughly fifteen feet from them. "So good to see you both." She'd plastered a pursed-lipped smile on her face.

The tall older man, thin, with a receding hairline and a bald spot, had his hand on the lower back of an attractive blonde woman. He gave them a curt nod. "Rita." 

"Christa, you go easy on that wine." Rita fully smiled, offering a lovely, polite laugh. "Good thing there isn't any eggnog, we wouldn't want you to make anyone an... uncomfortable, but compelling offer." Olivia watched this, both absurdly amused by Rita's abject joy and confused without any context.

The thin woman bristled, the man scoffed. "Choke on a dick, Rita." He kept walking.

Rita raised her wine glass. "I wouldn't want to take all of Christa's fun away." She called it jovially after the retreating couple.

Olivia looked at her, disgust and baffled amusement playing on her face. "Do I even want to know?"

Rita shrugged. "Just a guy that occasionally needs to be reminded that his Prius is safe from no man. Or woman." She smiled over her wine glass.

"I'm so confused." Olivia took another drink from her glass.

"It's probably best that you remain that way. I don't want to incriminate him." Rita was actually fully smiling.

"Wait? Raf- Barba?" Olivia turned toward her.

"Liv." Rita looked at her, something like pity crossing over her still-amused face. "We don't have to do that here."

Olivia's face heated. She looked at the ground, then back up at the other woman's face. She'd come out here to give Rita what she owed her, and she wouldn't let herself off the hook until she did.

She turned so they were no longer both facing the street, and faced Rita's profile. "I owe you an apology."

Rita nodded gamely, her glass still held up near her mouth, her eyes still on the darkened street. "You do." It was said with no heat. 

"I shouldn't have... put that on you. It wasn't fair to you."

Rita took a breath. "No. It wasn't."

Olivia shifted a little. She was wrong, she knew she was, but Rita always made it a little harder to remember. She looked at the other woman, pressed on. "But you deserved your day in court. You deserve, like every other person he harmed-"

Rita winced. "Liv? Please don't go all special victims on me." Tossed her a slightly desperate glance, not entirely unlike one she'd received from Barba on many occasions.

Olivia looked at the sky, prayed for some patience. 

"Look." Rita took a breath to face her, feeling oddly compelled to offer some consolation. "I appreciate the sentiment, I do. And it's not as though the thought never occured to me. But I made a decision a long time ago to prioritize my future over my past. You know as well as I do that the system isn't flawless, neither is society, just like I know you know it used to be far worse off. And I had plans. I still do. Can you respect that?" 

They looked at eachother for moment. Olivia nodded. "Yes. Yes, I can. I just wish that I didn't have to, that you didn't have to."

Rita drew a breath in through her nose smiling at the other woman. She slowly nodded. "You and me both." 

They drank their wine in companionable silence.

Olivia steadied herself. She wasn't quite finished eating crow. "I need you to know that he never betrayed your confidence. I figured it out, and he confirmed it, but-"

"Mmhm." Rita looked casual. Unbothered. "I know. I shouldn't have been shocked." She smiled to herself. "His face never could conceal a thing."

Something like jealousy rippled through Olivia, but she shrugged it off. "Well, could you please tell him that? Because he was acting like your friendship was over."

"It was." Rita shrugged. "Now its not." Smiled at Olivia's bafflement. "You know," she leaned a little toward Olivia, taking pity on her, "while I think it's admirable that you want to make it all better for him, when he goes all maudlin, I say let him. He gets tired of it eventually." She patted the other woman's arm, a grin on her face.

"He thought you were never going to forgive him, and you think this is funny?" Olivia was actually confused.

She smiled, took pity on Olivia. "This is what we do, don't judge us." She didn't have the vocabulary or the capacity within herself to explain how much easier it was to brush their hurt off to the side, let it build around them, than it was to work together to actually solve it. The pain had grown over the years, so that it sat heavily around them, shielding them both in suffocating armor.

Olivia dug her fingers into her eyes, looked back at the woman coolly sipping her wine. "I'm not judging you, I'm just trying to understand."

"It would take you longer than the thirty years I've been trying to figure us out." She smiled fondly. "We don't even know." She took a sip of her wine, watching Olivia's baffled and frustrated face. "You know, he would be pissed if he knew you were meddling again." 

Olivia's face turned a little pink.

Rita's smile widened. "You just can't stand to let him hurt, can you?"

"Of course not. He's my friend." She looked at the other woman accusingly.

Rita just snorted in an unladylike manner. "You're as self righteous as he is. The two of you were made for eachother." Olivia choked on her wine a little.

Rita smiled. Caught her.

Olivia glanced at her, but said nothing. Rita found herself admiring the other woman's refusal to deny it, or to press the matter further. 

She took another sip of her wine, decided it might be fun to toy with Olivia Benson a little. "You're not going to ask?"

"It isn't any of my business." Olivia met her eyes, and Rita enjoyed the other woman's jealousy, but felt ashamed when she saw the pain in her eyes. 

"For someone who claims to not be involved, you're awfully wrapped up in him." Rita waited.

"He's my friend." They stared at eachother. 

"He's mine too." Rita's smile was almost kind, but she didn't break eye contact.

"I know that, now." They both nodded, looked away from eachother.

Rita faced Olivia with a smirk. "I know you think I made him miserable for my own amusement, but I'm actually doing him a favor." She offered an ironic grin. "He loves the pain. It's why he sets standards that are impossible to reach." She gestured a little with her glass, addressing the air. "Then he isn't disappointed when everyone fails him. And if someone takes too long to disappoint him," she gestured pointedly at Olivia with her glass, "he just finds a find a way to break it all himself, and fail you before you fail him." She smiled to herself. "He hates feeling out of control, and he always was impatient. Too guarded to ever let go and be happy with anyone." She paused, looked off for a moment. "Still, he was always more mine than anyone else's." She angled her head. "Until you."

Olivia's eyes were swimming a little. "So you do love him?" 

Rita sighed, took in the other woman's pain. Found herself tamping down on the urge to comfort again, inadequate though she would be. "Its all much more complicated than that." Her expression turned painfully nostalgic. "Or less." 

Olivia didn't say anything, she didn't argue. She just watched the other woman with quiet resignation. 

Without anything to fight against, Rita squared her shoulders, looked Olivia in her eyes. Prepared for the truth. "Yes. Absolutely, I love him. We we're both lucky enough to stumble onto eachother when we were young, before we learned that we were both natural loners. And we had some fun along the way." She snorted. "Hell, we had a ton of fun along the way." She tilted her head, caught Olivia's eye. "If you want to be the best, you have to find the person that wants to take you down. Let them push you to be better. But that mood became so present in who we were together, that I don't think either one of us knows how to be us without the fight." She took a cleansing breath in through her nose. "What's good for the game isnt always good for the soul. And the game was too important. To us both." 

Rita looked at the other woman, and Liv didn't seem particularly comforted by her words. Impatient, Rita dug in. "I think you misunderstand us both, Liv. Neither one of us is a possessive bipolar cop with anger issues. We love eachother, but we're both too smart, too pragmatic for our own good. He spent so much of his life pacing himself against me that he forgot to figure out whether or not it hurt or it felt good." She snorted. "Intelligence is a happiness killer. It was just easier to be alone together." She drank her wine to steady herself.

Olivia took a sip of wine to steady her own exposed heart. "How did you know about Elliot?" It seemed like the easiest thing to address.

Rita smirked. "Tucker. It seems we have very similar taste in men. Great minds and all that." She tipped her glass.

Olivia almost smiled, somehow comforted under the gaze of someone without an ounce of judgement in her tone about shameful feelings she'd had over a decade ago. She snorted into her glass. "I can't think of a thing Tucker and Rafael have in common."

"Oh, I can." Humor danced into Rita's eyes. "They both make it extremely hard to love them." They both laughed a little, and Rita stared at Olivia, took in her shimmering eyes. "Just, one of them also makes it extremely hard not to love him as well."

Olivia's smile softened. Rita didn't miss it.

They stood in silence with the knowledge of that statement hanging between them.

"But he's just so much fucking work sometimes." Rita's words punctuated the quiet.

Olivia smile widened, her head filled with wine. "Yeah, he is."

"But he's vibrant and contradictory and complicated." Rita lit another cigarette, saw Olivia's gaze brifely shift to look at the cigarette in her hand. "You know that he smokes right?"

Olivia made a face. "No he doesn't."

Rita laughed at her, but there was a softness behind it, be it from the wine or something else. "Oh, yes he does. He hides it, but I could bet you my next win in court that there's an emergency pack hiding in the second locked drawer in his desk, unless Carmen took them away again."

Olivia shook her head, her own smile spreading to match Rita's. "I've never seen or smelled any evidence on him."

Rita looked at her for a moment. "He's gotten very good at concealing peices of himself, especially when he's ashamed of it. I still can't figure him out." She took a slow breath, let it out. "But I have never been bored."

Olivia looked at her, and despite her best efforts, her heart was sitting clearly in her eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

Rita looked at her with something that looked like sadness. "Because he and I love eachother, in our own peculiar way. And despite the fact that I doubt it will ever happen, I want to see him happy."

Rita looked at the slightly hopeless look on the other woman's face, acknowledged that Olivia knew him as well as she did, knew that he skirted misery like an old friend. She extended knowledge to the other woman like an olive branch. "He can be ruthless and unforgiving, but he can also be painfully sweet." She smiled at a memory. "When we were teenagers he once spent an entire week attending my classes for me and taking notes so I wouldn't fall behind when I got sick." She snorted when Olivia smiled a little. "Of course, he claimed it was because he didn't want me to have any excuses when I had a lower GPA. Rita paused. "I'll have you know that I did not get a lower GPA." Olivia's mouthed turned up a little more. 

Rita's smile slipped, but she continued. "But he can also hold a grudge better than anyone I know. He still hasn't forgiven me for things I did a lifetime ago. But I know all of those people are still in there, still making up who he is." Her nod looked almost encouraging.

Olivia couldn't quite follow. "Are you telling me this because-"

"Im telling you this because if you're waiting for him to swallow his pride, I promise you he won't." Rita stared at her now, refusing to let her look elsewhere. "All the years I've known him, even when he had nothing else, his pride was his companion. I know he has a more complicated relationship with it than he ever had with me, Yelina, his child's mother, or even you." Rita stared into her eyes until Olivia looked out into the street, feeling exposed.

Rita heaved a sigh. "He does this. He's smashing out the window of his prius with a baseball bat. You're the prius. I'm the bat." She raised an eyebrow, smirking at Olivia's confused face. "He tends to love things that he thinks he can't have. So I made sure that he never fully had me." Rita tilted her head, considered the other woman. "But I wonder what he would do if he knew he could have you." She shrugged. "I'm curious, because I think he's terrified of you." Rita laughed at them both, at the turn this conversation had taken. She gestured with her wine glass. "You're like working out. I'm like junk food. It feels good to indulge in me, but I'm what's going to eventually kill him. It hurts him to love you, but you make him better. He's just afraid of the pain."

"I don't understand." But Olivia's voice was thick with her comprehension. And she hated, absolutely hated the burning feeling in her chest, something spreading recklessly. Hope.

Rita reached over, offered her arm a friendly pat. "Listen Liv, I love him. But at the end of the day, we're more different than we are alike." She smiled. "Besides. After you've seen a boy sing into your hairbrush like he means it, there's no room for romance." Her mouth turned up in an ironic grin. 

Olivia didn't know if she quite believed her, but couldn't help her own smile.

Feeling oddly exposed by the woman next to her, who refused to speak anything else but the truth, Olivia felt an overwhelming desire to leave. She turned to go, to escape the onslaught of Rita's examination. 

"Liv?" Olivia turned, looked at Rita. The exposed vulnerability on the other woman's face made her think of him.

"He really is worth all the trouble." Rita looked away, her words getting a little caught before she spoke. "I absolutely adore him. So please take care of him." 

Rita left before she could.


	12. Chapter 12

The cold walk home from the reception sobered Olivia up, clearing her mind of confusion and anger to make way for repentance with her newfound view over what she previously had missed. 

In her mind, she walked the pavement with Elliot.

She didn't allow herself to think of him often, because she had long ago surmised that doing so halted her own growth, and she wanted to grow. She had allowed him to embrace her in a stasis for far too long, accepting the warmth and love that was her greatest friend in favor of herself, simply because she had previously never known any better. But here, with the cold wind swirling the wine into the back of her brain, she allowed herself Elliot. To view this, her life as she currently lived it, through the prism of how she had once lived her life, and who she had lived it with. Standing outside of her past was like looking into the window of Rafael's livingroom. She saw him. She had always seen him, and his hesitant desire to see morality into a world that had hit back at him more often than not. She had recognized his need to forge goodness almost immediately, but was blind to his weakness for another woman, because her own infallible nature tended to deify those that she loved. She had done so with Elliot so deeply that when he had failed her, the wound was far deeper because she never saw it coming. His weaknesses. But Elliot was just a man, and so was Rafael. A man capable of the same weaknesses she herself had. 

In a world that kicked him often, a world that pushed him back, held him down and fought against him, he relied on someone. Someone he loved who wasn't capable of fully giving themselves to him, and maybe that was the way he had intended it. Because it was easier to love someone on terms you could understand, when no one had ever taught you a better way. 

She thought of Elliot. God, she could absolutely relate.

Walking with Elliot simultaneously strengthened and weakened her, as it always had. She swirled Rafael's love for Rita around in her heart, let it mingle with the love she still felt for Elliot. Felt some of the betrayal slip away. Their lives had each offered more obstacles than opportunities, and she found peace in the knowledge that they had each found some solace along the way. Rita had lifted some of the burden from his life, just as Elliot had done for her, and she wouldn't begrudge anyone for that. 

She thought of Rita's words - they were true, of that she could be absolutely certain. He was worth every bit of trouble that he was, and she wasn't blind to him. He was difficult. Obstinate. He tended to be suspicious of everything and everyone. He seemed hellbent on stripping everyone around him of their social defenses, as though he hoped that by doing so, they wouldn't do the same to him. Everything was a battle with him. He shrugged off compliments as he did a hand on his shoulder, as though feeling it, enjoying it, would only mean that he had to feel the sharp edge of criticism in equal measure. 

He refused to let her or anyone else take care of him. It had been one of the first things about him that concerned her, one of the first pieces of evidence of his identity that she had noticed - that he was someone to her beyond a harbinger of justice. His odd propensity to askew any sense of care, both from others and himself. That recklessness had inspired her own desire to look after him. One way or another, she'd tried to take care of him for years, ever since she had come to notice that it seemed as though no one else ever had. And if she was being honest with herself, somewhere along the line, he had begun to take care of her as well, edging around her always, hovering a protective hand just where she couldn't see it, imperfect though he was at consideration of any kind.

He was not perfect. She knew that. Had really always known that. She smiled. And that notion was more liberating to her soul than anything else. She loved him. She knew he wasn't perfect. She didnt try to make him perfect in her mind. Because perfection would ruin his magic.

She breathed in the wintery air. Said a silent apology to Elliot. To her younger self. If only she had known then, what she knew now. She would have saved a lot of people a lot of pain.

By the time she reached his apartment, the cold air felt cleansing in her lungs. She loved him. She knew that. There was something beautiful in that, even with all the noise that surrounded it. She felt braver now, remembering Elliot and who she had been. She wasn't that person anymore. She would confront him, confront herself. And face whatever came of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no idea where I'm going with this. I may not even add to it. Just occured to me and I thought I'd slap it up. Thanks for reading!
> 
> It's short, but it's something. Finding it hard to summon the inspiration, but I felt like Olivia needed to face some of her own demons.
> 
> Thanks for sticking this out with me. Stay well.


End file.
